Purchase of Power
by President Luthor
Summary: Law and Order-Smallville crossover. A murdered woman. A package that could bring Luthor Corp. to its knees. And a D.A. poised to challenge one of the most powerful men in America. Briscoe and Green are on the case. COMPLETE
1. CH 1

TITLE: "Purchase of Power": A Law and Order & Smallville crossover  
  
tale  
  
RATING: PG-13  
  
SUMMARY: A murder in a Park Avenue luxury apartment leads Assistant District Attorney McCoy to one of his most formidable opponents. The story occurs in the current timelines of Smallville and Law and Order. Law and Order and Smallville fans -- this tale is for you.  
  
CHARACTERS:  
  
From Law and Order  
  
Det. Lennie Briscoe, Det. Edward Green, Lt. Anita Van Buren, Exec  
  
ADA Jack McCoy,  
  
ADA Serena Southerlyn  
  
From Smallville:  
  
Right now, just the Luthors. But, hey, McCoy can subpoena just about anyone, can't he ...  
  
DISCLAIMERS: This tale is purely for entertainment purposes. WB and DC Comics own all applicable rights to "Smallville." NBC and Dick Wolf own all applicable rights to "Law and Order". This tale is fictional and does not refer to any actual events or persons. Any similarities that might occur are coincidental.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
[NEW YORK CITY -- Versailles Luxury Condominiums, Park Avenue, suite 3015, 7 p.m.]  
  
The FedEx delivery man scratched his head. A Ms. C. Saunders had called his dispatch office only an hour ago. She wanted an express delivery to Metropolis. He checked the address again. Suite 3015. The concierge walked towards him.  
  
"Ms. Saunders should be here," the puzzled concierge replied. He knocked on the door. "Ms. Saunders? You have a delivery from FedEx?'  
  
"Look, I gotta go to the Upper East Side to pick up another package," the impatient delivery man insisted.  
  
The concierge knocked again, then checked the handle. It was unlocked. "Ms. Saunders, your door was unlocked," he announced. He walked into the foyer and turned into the living room.  
  
"Dear god,"he gasped. Ms. Saunders lay on the plush carpet, flanked by spatters of blood. Her throat had been cut. The delivery man peered through the door. "Something wrong?"  
  
"Call 911. Now!"The concierge shouted, as he dashed out the door.  
  
This isn't good, he thought. Mr. Luthor won't like this at all ...  
  
Half an hour later, Det. Briscoe and Green arrived on the scene.  
  
"Park Avenue. Sweet," Green whistled, "I wonder how much dough a pad on Park Avenue costs nowadays."  
  
"Keep dreamin', Ed," Briscoe deadpanned, "I doubt your salary would even cover the parking space."  
  
A beat cop caught up with the detectives. "Hey, Lennie, this guy's the condo's concierge. He came across the body about half an hour ago."  
  
"So, who was the victim? Had she been living here long?" Lennie asked.  
  
The concierge wiped his brow. "Chelsea Saunders. She had been living here since September. For work."  
  
"What sort of work did she do?" Green added.  
  
The concierge coughed. "Umm ... I think I was public relations, marketing. Something like that. She was from out-of-town, so her employer put her up here on a short-term lease."  
  
"Alright, spit it out,"Briscoe muttered, "who does Chelsea Saunders work for?"  
  
"She works -- worked -- for ... Luthor Corp. I think they were planning a new corporate plaza, right on Wall Street."  
  
Green passed his card to the concierge. "Thanks. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."  
  
Across the hall, another cop questioned the FedEx delivery man. Briscoe and Green approached him.  
  
"You say that Ms. Saunders called the FedEx office about an hour ago?" Briscoe asked.  
  
"Yeah. My dispatcher said I should come here first. She had an urgent delivery."  
  
"This?" Green held the thin FedEx envelope.  
  
"Yeah," the delivery man replied. "Express delivery to Luthor Corp HQ. Metropolis."  
  
Police photographers took pictures of the crime scene as forensics technicians collected blood samples from the rug.  
  
"So we've got a dead broad in a Luthor-owned condo," Briscoe explained, "with a package that she wanted to get to Metropolis as soon as possible."  
  
"Isn't Luthor Corp. one of the biggest petrochemical companies in the world?" Green asked.  
  
Briscoe nodded. "Yeah, and I'm curious to see how anxious the Luthors are about getting this delivery. Considering someone died to try to get it to them. Quickly."  
  
Green glanced at the crime scene and shook his head. "Talk about going the extra mile for the Company ..."  
  
[27th Precinct, NYPD]  
  
Lt. Van Buren listened on the phone. "So you're telling me Chelsea Saunders has no relatives in New York? Just a mother in Illinois?"  
  
"Yup," Green replied, "We found an address in her Palm Pilot."  
  
"Anybody else interesting in her life?" Van Buren asked.  
  
Green studied the receipt. "The receipt says she bought it at a Best Buy, like, two weeks ago. I doubt she had the time to enter anything new in it. Lennie says her day planner's only had work-related entries. Nothin' but client dinners, board meetings and power lunches."  
  
An officer whispered something in Van Buren's ear. "Where are you guys now?" she demanded.  
  
"Still canvassing the floor at the Versailles for witnesses," Green replied, "No luck so far."  
  
"I want you guys to get your butts to JFK airport," Van Buren insisted, "Lex Luthor's due to board a corporate jet to Metropolis. The flight leaves in an hour. You'll have to hurry."  
  
Briscoe and Green traded glances. This could be the break they needed.  
  
[JFK Airport, 8:40 p.m.]  
  
On the tarmac, Lex Luthor waved off his security guard. "Thanks for your help. I'll be back in New York in about two weeks." He walked towards the stairs to his jet.  
  
An airport security car pulled up. "Mr. Lex Luthor?" Briscoe shouted over the engines, as he flashed his badge.  
  
"Is there something I can help you with, officers?" Lex inquired, "I've got a gala at the museum tonight."  
  
"You may have to miss it, Mr. Luthor," Green replied, "An employee of yours -- one Chelsea Saunders -- was found dead in your company's Park Avenue condo."  
  
Lex's face blanched. "Ms. Saunders?" He knelt on the tarmac, visibly shocked at the news. "We just had lunch. Strategies for lobbying  
  
city hall on our new corporate plaza."  
  
"I'm sorry about your employee," Briscoe said, "This is just routine, but ... where were you today between the hours of 6 and 7 p.m.?"  
  
"At Luthor Corp. Towers, Wall Street," Lex replied, "With about a dozen of my associates."  
  
"We'll need the contact information for all of them," Green stated. Lex looked suspiciously at him. "Like my partner said," Green continued, "This is just routine."  
  
Lex cleared his throat. "I'll cancel my engagement in Metropolis and provide you with whatever assistance you may need. I take it you have more questions for me?"  
  
"It shouldn't be too long," Briscoe replied, "Should your story check out, you'll be back in Metropolis in time to dazzle your guests at the museum."  
  
Lex looked out the sedan window, as they drove to NYPD's 27th Precinct. A murder linked to Luthor Corp. certainly won't look good in the public's eye, he feared. 


	2. CH 2

[Interrogation Room, One Police Plaza, 9:15 p.m.]  
  
Briscoe and Green arrived - only to see that Lt. Van Buren was chatting with a gray-haired gentleman. "Who's the suit?" Briscoe remarked to his partner.  
  
"Detectives, this is Mr. Goldstein, ... Mr. Luthor's attorney," Van Buren stated, then closed the door behind her.  
  
Lex shook the attorney's hand. "Richard, I wasn't expecting you here."  
  
"The concierge was kind enough to inform your headquarters in Metropolis," Goldstein replied, "Your father thought it was your best interest to have legal representation ..."  
  
Lex muttered under his breath.  
  
"Something, wrong, Mr. Luthor?" Green inquired.  
  
"Nothing," Lex answered, "Just ... some unresolved family issues. Now, detectives, you had some questions for me?"  
  
"This Park Avenue condo that your corporation leases," Briscoe began, "Who has access to the condo. Only Luthor Corp. employees?"  
  
"Yes," Lex replied, "We provide the condo as a courtesy to members of our team. We do a lot of business in the Big Apple: construction, financial services, partnerships ... it just seemed practical to us."  
  
"And Ms. Saunders?" Green continued. "She would be the only one authorized to have the access key?"  
  
"When Ms. Saunders arrived here in September to work on the plaza project," Lex added, "our New York office would have assigned her the condo for however long she might need it."  
  
"I'm guessing that the head office would hold onto the master key?" Briscoe continued.  
  
Lex began to answer, but his attorney whispered something in his ear. "I don't see the problem," Lex whispered, but the attorney seemed insistent.  
  
"Lex Luthor is not directly responsible for the affairs of Luthor Corp. - Wall Street," Goldstein stated, "Now, unless you have relevant questions for Mr. Luthor ..."  
  
"We'd like the contact information for those associates who met with your client from 6 p.m to 7 p.m." Briscoe announced, "-if you don't mind."  
  
The attorney placed two sheets of paper on the table. "The names and addresses of management and mission-critical staff of Luthor Corp. - Wall Street. I'd suggest that you start with the V.P. of Operations, Dan Gonzalves. As for the FedEx package ..."  
  
"It was found at the crime scene and is part of our investigation," Green stated. The attorney smiled, then led Lex towards the door.  
  
"I'd suggest that your client enjoy his stay in the Big Apple," Briscoe hollered as Lex and his attorney left, "we'll be checking up on his whereabouts this evening."  
  
Green examined the contact list. "There are, like, 20 to 30 names here! All work numbers."  
  
Van Buren sighed. "Pay the Wall Street suits a visit during your breakfast. Right now, you can find out more about who's gone where at that Park Ave. condo."  
  
"If that's the case, I hope my Visa Gold card arrived in the mail," Briscoe joked. So much for catching the Knicks game on the tube, he grumbled to himself.  
  
[Versailles Luxury Condominiums, Park Avenue, Management Office, 10:20 p.m.]  
  
"You wanted to see me?" Condo concierge Andre Sinclair inquired.  
  
"You told us earlier that Luthor Corp. holds a short-term lease on suite 3015?" Green reviewed his notes.  
  
"Yes," Sinclair replied. "When Giuliani approved the plaza development a few years ago, many members of Luthor Corp.'s global team stayed here to work on the project."  
  
"And how long do they usually stay here?" Green continued.  
  
Sinclair pulled out a log. "Depends. If they're here for a meeting, maybe just the weekend. If they're more involved in the project ... weeks, even months."  
  
"The crime scene boys say there were no signs of forced entry," Briscoe interrupted, "and no stolen items. Did Ms. Saunders have any visitors that week?"  
  
The concierge pulled out another log. "All visitors must sign in at the front desk. Let's see ... she didn't have many visitors ... the occasional working lunch, that sort of thing."  
  
"We'll need the names of those visitors for our investigation," Briscoe stated.  
  
"Uhh, I've signed a confidentiality agreement," Sinclair gulped, "I'm not allowed to violate the privacy requests of our guests."  
  
"You're also 'not allowed' to block an on-going murder investigation," Briscoe growled, "Ever heard of obstruction of justice!"  
  
Sinclair quickly handed over the log. "You'll smooth this over with my boss?"  
  
Briscoe nodded. "Oh sure, we'll let your boss know how much of a good, law- abiding citizen you really are." He rolled his eyes at Green. "Let's get outta here, Ed. I doubt twice-divorced shmoes like myself fit their target demographics."  
  
[Smallville, Clark's 'Fortress of Solitude', 10:05 p.m. CST]  
  
Clark gazed into his telescope. He knew that -- somewhere in space - lay the answers to his questions. His roots.  
  
The phone rang. "Clark Kent."  
  
"Turn on CNN. Now!" It was Chloe.  
  
Clark switched on the remote. "... Chelsea Saunders, a marketing executive with petrochemical giant Luthor Corp., was found dead under what police describe as 'suspicious' circumstances. NYPD reports confirm that they are treating the death as a homicide ..."  
  
"You said Lex was in the Big Apple?" Chloe asked.  
  
"Yeah, since the beginning of the week," Clark replied, "he was supposed to return to Metropolis tonight."  
  
"Hmm ..." Chloe muttered. "Look, I'll call you later. G'night!" Chloe skimmed through yesterday's Daily Planet: 'LUTHOR TO OPEN NEW ROMAN EXHIBIT IN MUSEUM'  
  
Lex wouldn't miss an opportunity to bask in the self-congratulatory glow of a museum opening, she thought. One that would cast the Luthor family in a more favourable light. She began a search on the Internet ...  
  
Search terms: luthor new york murder  
  
"Let's see what comes up ..." All the New York dailies and TV stations had news about the 'Park Avenue slaying'. The tabloids will have a field day with this one, she remarked.  
  
At the Kent farm, Clark called the Metropolis Museum.  
  
"Yes, I'd like to speak to Lex Luthor. Tell him it's his friend, Clark Kent."  
  
"I'm sorry," the desk clerk apologized, "but Mr. Luthor cancelled his appearance at the museum today."  
  
Clark scratched his head. Lex is still in New York? Probably to contain the fallout of this alleged murder, he thought. He can't be involved.  
  
Not in a murder. 


	3. CH 3

[Luthor Corp. - Wall Street offices, 9:20 a.m.]  
  
Vice President of Operations Dan Gonzalves led the detectives into his office. "Up until about four years ago, we used to have an office in the World Trade Center."  
  
"Lucky for Luthor Corp.," Briscoe remarked.  
  
"Not so lucky," Gonzalves replied, "We moved our international trade branch to the 71st floor. We lost 40 good people on 9/11."He sipped his coffee. "Excuse me, if I don't have my caffeine by 10, I can't function."  
  
"Not a problem," Green nodded, as he presented a list of employees. "Lex Luthor's attorney provided us with this list of employees ... and we just wanted to confirm that he was here for a  
  
meeting between 6 and 7 last night."  
  
Gonzalves skimmed the document. "Rita, John, Sanjeev, me, yup ..... V.P. Finance Guy Chevrier ..." He checked off several names. "I was at that meeting. We were planning strategy for the first phase of the new corporate plaza. Mr. Luthor doesn't have day-to-day  
  
responsibilities on this project, but he likes to keep informed. There were, oh, about 12 of us. You're welcome to ask them."  
  
"We will." Briscoe stood up. He and Green began to question each of the people at the meeting. All of them said the same thing. Lex was at the meeting. And he didn't leave until just after 7 p.m. Their lead appeared to dry up -- until they arrived at Rita Ponte's desk.  
  
"So you're saying he was here for the whole meeting?" Green asked.  
  
"Well, yes ... I -- think so ..." she replied with hesitation.  
  
"You're don't sound 100% sure," Briscoe noted.  
  
"Well, he went to the bathroom around quarter to 7. Then he came back five minutes after 7. Or maybe 10 minutes after ..."  
  
"So you're saying he 'wasn't' at the meeting for the entire hour?" Briscoe pressed further.  
  
"Like I said, we had a slide presentation. Designs for the new plaza. The lights were dimmed. That was about half an hour or so. Some people might not have noticed when he left. The presentation was still going on when he returned."  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Ponte, for your help." Briscoe and Green closed the office door behind them and walked to the elevators.  
  
"So our boy billionnaire has an unexplained absence," Briscoe remarked, "Do you think he could make it to Park Avenue, ice the broad, then come back in time to catch the last bit of the slide show?"  
  
"The only way would be if he had a car -- or a cab -- waiting for him," Green disagreed, "I dunno Lennie. He'd have to move pretty fast. Take some shortcuts."  
  
"Well, either that," Briscoe replied, "or our bald executive friend is actually Shazam and flew there."  
  
"Maybe we should check the area cab companies?" Green offered.  
  
"Now you're talking," Briscoe agreed. "I'm sure one of their drivers would remember if Lex Luthor flagged them down for a quick trip to Easy Street."  
  
They canvassed two or three taxi cab companies. After lunch, they returned to the precinct to review their leads with Lt. Van Buren.  
  
"Any luck with Luthor Corp.?" Van Buren inquired.  
  
"One staffer seemed to remember that Luthor slipped out of the slide show early, then came back near the end. It's a tight window: maybe 20-25 minutes, tops."  
  
"But we stopped by Detour Taxis," . Their dispatcher remembered that one of their cabs was called to Luthor Corp. -- Wall Street around the supper hour."  
  
"That doesn't leave much time for him to kill Ms. Saunders," Van Buren doubted. "All you've got is suspicions and coincidences. Eleven of the witnesses say Lex Luthor was at the meeting from 6 to 7 p.m. And this Rita Ponte ... you say she's not even that sure Mr. Luthor slipped out of the room?" She handed back the case files to Briscoe. "Ya gotta place Luthor Jr. at Park Plaza, or ya got nothin'. Sorry, guys."  
  
Green shrugged. "I guess it's back to Versailles Condos. Maybe someone saw him come in a back entrance? A freight elevator?"  
  
"The D.A.'s office got wind of the investigation," Van Buren warned, "we'll have to come up with something solid. Soon -- or they're urge us to drop the case."  
  
"Great," Briscoe grumbled, "I guess the D.A. doesn't like the optics of cops grilling an exec for one of New York's leading corporations."  
  
"You know what they say: money talks," Green replied. They left to question the condominium's staffers again.  
  
[Office of District Attorney Arthur Branch]  
  
Arthur Branch sat behind his desk. "What's this about a murder investigation somehow linked to Luthor Corp. And Lex Luthor in particular?"  
  
Jack McCoy reviewed his dossier. "Briscoe and Green found some gaps in Mr. Luthor's alibi. They just need more time to see if it pans out."  
  
"Unless they can place Lex Luthor in the condo between 6 and 7 p.m. last night," Branch argued, "I'm afraid you don't have any further grounds to continue questioning Mr. Luthor."  
  
"Arthur," D.A. Serena Southerlyn protested, "you've got to give them some time. They have a witness who can confirm that Lex Luthor was NOT in the meeting anytime between 6:30 and 7 p.m. We have a taxi dispatcher and a driver who both insist that they picked up someone  
  
matching Lex's description outside Luthor Corp.'s office."  
  
"I'm sorry," Branch repeated, "The last thing the city wants is a malicious prosecution suit from Luthor Corp. His daddy Lionel has deep pockets. If you're wrong, Lionel Luthor will crucify the city, NYPD and the D.A.'s office."  
  
"Are you reluctant to pursue this investigation because of that," McCoy demanded, "or is it because Luthor Corp. provided funds to your electoral campaign?"  
  
Branch reviewed a case book. "Give me something concrete by tomorrow. Or we close the case and send Mr. Luthor our apologies. That'll be all."  
  
McCoy glared at Branch, and was about to speak. "Jack," Southerlyn pleaded, "Let's go. Van Buren might have an update for us."  
  
McCoy stood outside the elevator, then slammed his briefcase against the floor. "I don't like this, Serena. Arthur's prepared to let Lex walk. The Luthors must have been extremely generous to his campaign!"  
  
"So all we need to do is find solid evidence that Lex Luthor was at the condo before 7 p.m.," Serena emphasized. "Then he'll have no choice but to proceed."  
  
Maybe, McCoy thought. It had better happen soon. The Luthors own property around the globe. Lex is a definite flight risk. 


	4. CH 4

Law and Order-Smallville Xover  
  
[One Police Plaza, Crime Scene Unit, 4 p.m.]  
  
"So you're saying your boss will toss the case if we don't place our boy Lex at the condo?" Briscoe grumbled.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Serena Southerlyn frowned. "Branch is afraid we're risking a wrongful prosecution suit if we continue to implicate Mr. Luthor."  
  
"We're heading back to Versailles Condos to see if anyone spotted Lex in the building last night -- even for just a couple of minutes," Green added. "We need a day or two."  
  
"My boss says you have until tomorrow," Serena stated. Green slapped Briscoe on the shoulder. "C'mon Lennie. Let's hustle."  
  
Serena glanced around. This was the CSU. Whatever you needed to know about a crime scene: photographs, ballistics testing, DNA results ... you could find out here.  
  
"Ms. Southerlyn?" lab technician Ray Hong inquired. "We might have something of interest."  
  
On a table were various household items: plates, forks, magazines, CDs. All bagged, tagged and catalogued.  
  
"This glass here," Hong began, "We found it on the coffee table near the body. Minute saliva traces. The DNA doesn't match Ms. Saunders'"  
  
"I'll let Lt. Van Buren know," Serena replied, "but that's only half the equation. We need to match it against Lex Luthor's DNA."  
  
"If you can do that," Hong added, "you've got your smoking gun."  
  
Serena examined the glass. One DNA sample could exonerate Lex Luthor.  
  
Or condemn him ...  
  
[Versailles Condominiums, 5:05 p.m.]  
  
"If I don't fix that leaky faucet," building superintendent Joe Solensky insisted, "Mrs. Holden's gonna have a conniption. I don't need that grief."  
  
"Just a few minutes, super," Briscoe replied. "Think back to last night. Did you see anything? Notice anyone suspicious? Maybe Mr. Luthor forgot a file and came back to get it?"  
  
"Last night, I was working on the furnace. It's near the underground parking..."  
  
"So there's another entrance to the building?"  
  
"Yeah," the super admitted. "We have a lot of hot shots living here. Movie stars, pro athletes, politicians. They can use a private elevator. Accessible from the parking level."  
  
"Maybe we can check the security camera," Briscoe offered.  
  
In the security room, the super instructed the guard to pull out yesterday's video records.  
  
"You sure management's o.k. with this?" the guard demanded.  
  
"Look," the super argued, "After 5, I'm management. They're gonna get the tape sooner or later. Just pop in the tape already!"  
  
"I like this guy's style," Briscoe joked. They fast-forwarded to 6 p.m.  
  
"Nothing," Green grumbled, "just the guards doing their rounds."  
  
"Wait. Stop there." Briscoe studied the video. "I don't know about you, but I'd bet that bald individual is none other than Lex."  
  
"We'll need that tape," Green replied. The guard reluctantly handed it over.  
  
"Thanks, super," Briscoe said, "We'll have our techie guys wash this thing through to get a clearer picture."  
  
When they arrived at their sedan, Green's cellphone rang. "Any news, detectives?" Van Buren asked.  
  
"We got a video of Lex entering the building about 10 to seven that night," Green replied, "We're going to the CSU now."  
  
[The Oak Room Pub, 5:25 p.m.]  
  
Jack McCoy carved into his fillet of salmon. "I got your message, counsellor. Briscoe and Green got something?"  
  
"They just busted a hole through Luthor's alibi," Serena revealed, "A videotape of Lex entering the condo around the time of the murder."  
  
Jack wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Better, but still circumstantial. And we still can't place him at the crime scene. Even with that glass the CSU found, we'd need a DNA sample from Lex. I doubt he'd cooperate." Serena seemed disappointed.  
  
"But ..." McCoy continued, "We can subpoena him as a material witness. To hell with what Branch thinks! At least to keep Luthor in New York. All we need now is motive."  
  
"That FedEx package?" Serena replied.  
  
Jack nodded. "The fraud squad looked it over. Something about transactions of chemicals to Eastern Europe. Lex may not be responsible for, or have knowledge of, Luthor Corp.'s international affairs. But Lionel Luthor does."  
  
"So we send Briscoe and Green to Kansas to question him," Serena offered.  
  
"No, I don't want to tip our hand just yet. Have the detectives bring in Lex for further questioning. Maybe he'll crack, maybe not. We need more hands on this investigation."  
  
"I had coffee with ADA Cabot yesterday," Serena said, "She says detectives Tutuola and Munch were looking forward to their time off ..."  
  
"Oh really," Jack's raised an eyebrow.  
  
[Special Victims Unit, One Police Plaza, 6:15 p.m.]  
  
"Olivia, Elliot, go pick him up." Capt. Donald Cragen.  
  
"He's a state assemblyman. Maybe we should only arrest him when we've got rock-solid evidence," Det. Elliot Stabler suggested.  
  
"Well, two corroborating witnesses are good enough for me," Cragen insisted, "This guy's a perverted slime-bag and a threat to the community! Book him. Let the stuffed shirts in Albany deal with the fallout."  
  
Detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuola high-fived each other. "Atlantic City here I come," Tutuola kidded. "I'm off the clock as of right now."  
  
"You said it, man," Munch hollered, "I'm stickin' close to home. The Big Apple, with its distractions - a both sacred and profane -- await me. And I intend to sample both of them."  
  
"Before you paint the town red, fellas," Cragen slapped a file into Munch's chest, "Your off-time's been revoked. Not my call."  
  
"What the f--!" Tutuola blurted.  
  
"Don't finish that thought," Cragen continued, "Homicide needs some extra eyes and ears. Lex Luthor's somehow associated with a murder on Park Ave. It's up to you to connect the dots. The D.A. wants to do this thing by the book. Briscoe and Green are working over Richie Rich right now. You guys gotta deliver the motive. Your flight to Metropolis leaves in a hour. All the jurisdictional paperwork's been forwarded to Topeka and the D.A.'s office. Those files will get you up to speed. You want someone to blame - blame D.A. McCoy."  
  
"Kansas? Why the hell are we going there?" Tutuola wondered.  
  
"Come on, Dorothy, let's go," Munch smirked, "If Jack 'Hang 'em High' McCoy wants us to go to Kansas, we'll go where duty calls us."  
  
"Hmmph," Tutuola grumbled, "more like Jack-ass McCoy if you ask me!"  
  
"So much for my dreams of going buck wild in the Big Apple," Munch sighed.  
  
[The Talon, Smallville 7 p.m. local time]  
  
"Sheriff Miller seemed a bit antsy," Lana noted. Chloe sipped her coffee.  
  
"How so?" Chloe asked.  
  
"He was here to pick up a coffee for the road," Lana continued, "when one of his deputies raced in here. They had a few words, then the sheriff almost blew a gasket! He stormed out raving something about 'city slickers' meddling in local affairs..."  
  
On the TV, news broke about the Saunders murder "... our New York affiliate reports that Lex Luthor is being questioned as a material witness in the suspicious death of Luthor Corp. marketing exec Chelsea Saunders ..."  
  
Lana and Chloe traded glances. "Lex, a murderer?" Lana doubted. "How could that be?"  
  
"Well, technically, he's only a material witness now," Chloe corrected her, "but maybe the cops just want to keep him from skipping the country. If he's guilty."  
  
"You heard it here first, he's guilty as sin," Pete declared.  
  
"And what evidence do you have to back that up, counsellor?" Chloe inquired.  
  
Pete shrugged. "He's a Luthor. Self-preservation is a big thing with them. They'll do or say anything to keep you-know-what from hitting the fan."  
  
"Where's Clark?" Lana asked.  
  
"Still trying to get in touch with Lex," Pete replied. "But if those news reports prove to be true, he'd have a better chance of reaching him up in Attica. That's where they send the hardened criminals ... they bust them upstate."  
  
"I think you've watched one too many NYPD Blue episodes," Chloe laughed.  
  
[Metropolis International Airport, arrivals level]  
  
NYPD detectives Munch and Tutuola picked up their luggage.  
  
Munch looked puzzled. "Where's our motorcade? I thought at the very least, the governor would be greeting us here ... thanking us for our help."  
  
"You're going to have to settle for a rental car," Tutuola remarked. "So what's the big deal about this Smallville?"  
  
"In the mid-to-late eighties," Munch began, "a massive meteor shower flattened the town. Lionel Luthor's son, Lex, was exposed to inter-galactic radiation. That's why he's bald. Throw in a father who's more interested in building empires than parenting ..."  
  
"... and you've got yourself a template for psychopathic tendencies," Tutuola concluded.  
  
"Then again," Munch stopped, "a lot of inexplicable things happened in the county in the years after the meteor shower ... strange deaths ... unusual accidents ..."  
  
Tutuola shook his head. "I think the psychopath theory makes more sense. 'Alien radiation' won't exactly hold up as a defense for Murder One."  
  
"Ah, ye of little faith. There's more to quaint, homey Smallville than meets the eye," Munch mumbled, as he turned on the car ignition. 


	5. CH 5

[Interrogation Room, One Police Plaza]  
  
"I hope you have a verrry good reason for interrupting Mr. Luthor's presentation to Museum of Modern Art," Lex' attorney huffed.  
  
"Depending on what these detectives have, Mr. Goldstein," ADA Southerlyn replied, "we can close this investigation and send Mr. Luthor on his way ... or subpoena him as a material witness."  
  
"Your alibi just went up in smoke, Lex," Briscoe growled, "we have videotape of you entering Versailles Condos between 6:30 and 7 that night. What happened - the slide presentation was too dull for you. What was it? Ms. Saunders was about to report some discrepancies in the Luthor books?"  
  
Lex whispered something in his attorney's ear. "My client was nervous that he might be personally implicated because of his presence in the building."  
  
"So why were you there, Lex?" Green demanded.  
  
Mr. Goldstein hesitated, but Lex answered. "I received a text message from Ms. Saunders around 6:20. She uncovered something about Luthor Corp.'s overseas transactions that seemed ... suspicious. An alarming volume of chemicals shipped from our warehouses on the Greek coast to Albania. I told her that, since the creation of LexCorp, I no longer hold the degree of influence I once had in my father's company. I suggested that I could help her come forward with the allegations. She nixed the idea. Then I left. I was there barely 15 minutes."  
  
"And you saw nothing out of the ordinary? No one loitering in the lobby or the elevator bay?" Green asked.  
  
"No. I didn't," Lex drank from his glass of water. "I realize now that I should have come forward. I'm sure you can appreciate how this would play in the press if I was somehow linked to Ms. Saunders death. Obviously, someone didn't want her to reveal what she discovered."  
  
"Obviously," Briscoe sneered.  
  
"Well, if that's all, detectives, counsellor," Goldstein began, "Mr. Luthor will be catching his jet to Metropolis tonight."  
  
"You ain't goin' anywhere, Lex," Briscoe insisted, "you fibbed about your alibi. That sort of thing doesn't play well to homicide detectives."  
  
"What are you saying?" Lex wondered.  
  
  
  
"It means, Mr. Luthor," Southerlyn began, "that I'll have the necessary documents to your lawyer first thing tomorrow. You were in the building the night of the murder. You saw the victim within the timeframe she was murdered. At the very least, you're a material witness."  
  
Briscoe stared at Lex. "You shoulda come clean the first time!" The detectives and Serena closed the door behind them. For the moment, Lex had time to weigh the severity of his situation.  
  
Lex glared at his attorney. "I told you I should have been completely honest!"  
  
"Their evidence is circumstantial," Goldstein stressed, "there's no murder weapon ... and nothing to link you to Chelsea's death."  
  
"Perception, Mr. Goldstein, is far more persuasive that reality," Lex noted. "O.J. Simpson was exonerated. Does that automatically make him innocent? If the public believes I'm guilty, nothing we say in court will matter."  
  
[The Talon, Smallville, 10:40 p.m.]  
  
"It's late, Fin," Munch complained, "we won't be able to talk to Sheriff Miller until the morning."  
  
"That's why I wanna get a jump start now," Tutuola replied, "so we know what to look for when we stop by the Luthor estate."  
  
Chloe and Pete were debating layout designs for the upcoming issue of the Torch when Munch and Tutuola approached the counter.  
  
"I'm sorry, but we're actually closing now," Lana stated.  
  
Tutuola flashed his badge. "Detective Fin Tutuola. This is my partner Detective John Munch. NYPD. We just ..."  
  
"NYPD?" Chloe inquired. "Unless you're executing some sort of cross-state warrant, you're, like, waaay out of your jurisdiction!"  
  
Munch sighed. "And who might you be, miss?"  
  
Chloe cleared her throat. "Chloe Sullivan, editor of the Smallville Torch."  
  
"Is that the town paper?" Tutuola asked.  
  
Chloe hesitated. "Well, yes and no. It's the voice of Smallville High. Unlike the Ledger, we're NOT beholden to the local power structure. I think you should talk to Sheriff Miller first."  
  
"We are. First thing in the morning," Munch shot back, "and as for jurisdiction, we've got clearance from the Kansas Attorney-General. All good reporters, Miss, check their facts ... before jumping to conclusions."  
  
"Alright, Munch settle down," Tutuola diffused the situation, "we're not here to step on any toes. We were just hoping to find out a little more about Lex Luthor."  
  
"I knew it! I knew it!" Pete blurted, "You're gonna bust Lex, aren't you? Takin' him downtown. What are you booking him for? Grand larceny? Assault?"  
  
Tutuola laughed. "Easy there, bro. We're not bustin' anybody's chops." He leaned towards Lana. "We've heard this is the place to go for the real deal on Smallville."  
  
"We just want to know if Lex Luthor might have said or done that seemed ... well, unusual."  
  
"This week?" Chloe thought aloud. "He's been in New York all week. Tying loose ends..."  
  
"What sort of 'loose ends'?" Munch inquired.  
  
"He's still nominally a director of Luthor Corp.," Chloe continued, "at least until he gets his own company LexCorp. off the ground."  
  
"Oh yes, the classic tale of the son eventually betraying the father," Munch interrupted, "Right now, he just owns a fertilizer plant. He must realize that he's facing an uphill battle. Lionel Luthor holds assets worth billions of dollars."  
  
"Lex just wants to make his own way in the world - without his father's influence," Lana replied.  
  
"Maybe," Pete added, "but I suspect he's just biding his time. To make his move against his dad."  
  
Tutuola looked puzzled. If Lex is planning a corporate coup, he thought, why would he try to protect his father from information that would surely clear a path for LexCorp. "So are you guys friends of Lex?" he asked.  
  
"Well, we know 'of' him," Chloe replied, "We're not close confidants if that's what you're getting at."  
  
"You guys want dirt on Lex," Pete smirked, "we know all about Luthor Corp.'s funny business in these parts."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," Munch noted. "So if you're not his buddies here ... who is?"  
  
Pete hesitated. "I guess Clark Kent would be his best friend here. Although with a friend like Lex ..."  
  
"... who needs enemies, right." Munch continued. "Thank you for your time, guys." He snatched a copy of the Torch from the counter. "I'll take this for my bedtime reading, Ms. Sullivan." Munch left the Talon, as Pete badgered him about life as a Big Apple cop.  
  
Chloe glared at Det. Munch, then shook her head. "Where does that guy get off - that sorta heavy-handed Elliot Ness bravado just won't wash in this town."  
  
"That's just it," Tutuola remarked, "he 'gets off' on antagonism. Don't mind John. That's just his style. But he, like me, is here to do a job. We're staying at the Red Roof Inn near the interstate. This is our number. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."  
  
When he left, Chloe glanced at Lana. "It sounds like Lex is in over his head this time."  
  
"The Chelsea Saunders murder," Lana nodded, "That can't be."  
  
Outside the Talon, Pete shook Munch's hand. "That's the direct number to the Torch. Lemme know if you need any help."  
  
"Thanks, Pete," Munch replied, "Although your editor friend doesn't take too kindly to big-city lawmen like myself."  
  
Tutuola chuckled. "She says you're like Elliot Ness. An ego-driven, no- nonsense badass."  
  
"Hey, Ness got the job done," Munch replied, "He nailed Capone on tax evasion of all things! If you ask me, Luthor Corp. is an Enron waiting to happen."  
  
"Why don't we ask Lionel Luthor tomorrow and see what shakes loose," Tutuola advised as he started the car ignition.  
  
[Crime Scene Unit, One Police Plaza, 11 p.m.]  
  
Southerlyn examined the glass again. "Are you sure?"  
  
The analyst nodded. "It matched the sample you obtained from Kansas. Your boss McCoy must have traded some favours in to swing that deal! See? The DNA from the glass is identical to the blood sample from Metropolis."  
  
"We have as close as we're going to get to a smoking gun," Southerlyn pulled out her cellphone. "Jack, it's Serena. The glass and the blood sample match."  
  
"Without a doubt?" McCoy demanded.  
  
"The CSU confirmed it just now," she replied.  
  
McCoy turned to Branch. "Arthur, the evidence is there. All the evidence points to Lex as the murderer. With the FedEx files, he had motive to conceal it. To protect his corporate inheritance. As a senior executive at Luthor Corp., he had access to the condo. He had the opportunity."  
  
Branch pinched his forehead. "Everything ... except the murder weapon. It's not a sure thing."  
  
"I'm not giving him a free ride," McCoy declared, "It's going to be Murder One."  
  
Branch paused, then sighed. McCoy prodded. "Arthur?"  
  
"Pick him up," Branch relented. "I want this done by the book."  
  
McCoy picked up the phone. "Van Buren. The DNA is a match. Have your people move. Now."  
  
[Lespinasse Restaurant, St. Regis Hotel, Manhattan 11: 40 p.m.]  
  
Briscoe and Green observed Lex, enjoying his main course. With a stunning female companion.  
  
"Man, wasn't she on the cover of Elle last month?" Green grumbled.  
  
"I bet he's hoping to hit it out of the park with her tonight," Briscoe scoffed. "Let's move."  
  
"Detectives, if you have any further questions, " Lex growled, "I suggest you ask my attorney. Your D.A. is forwarding the paperwork tomorrow."  
  
"Look, we're just here to tell you you've just climbed several rungs of the corporate ladder," Briscoe replied, "You're no longer a material witness ... you're a suspect! Come on, on your feet. You're under arrest for the murder of Chelsea --." He grabbed Lex's shoulder.  
  
Frustrated at the public embarrassment, Lex shoved aside Briscoe's arm. "Don't even think of manhandling me, you son-of-a-bitch! I'm not just some punk you can push around."  
  
Green immediately grappled with Lex. "You've just assaulted a police officer, Mr. Luthor." He shoved Lex onto the table. "You're under arrest for the murder of Chelsea Saunders. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney ..."  
  
Lex smirked. "I can hire a legion of lawyers. I know my Miranda rights. I'm innocent. Innocent!"  
  
"Sure, sure," Briscoe sneered as he cuffed Lex, "and we all know that a Luthor's word is his bond. Guess what, Lex, we've got more questions for you!"  
  
The maitre d' gasped as the detectives hauled away Lex Luthor into the Manhattan night.  
  
Lex's date sat still. Frozen with shock. 


	6. CH 6

[Office of Executive D.A., Jack McCoy, 9:10 a.m.]  
  
"I trust you had a good night's sleep, Mr. Luthor," McCoy remarked, as Lex and his attorney Richard Goldstein sat down.  
  
""Dragging my client from dinner and tossing him in jail like a common felon ... it's a shameful persecution!" Goldstein exclaimed. "Jack, just drop the charges and we can put this sordid mess behind us."  
  
"Your client is charged with first-degree murder," McCoy emphasized, "I'm offering you a chance to save him the humiliation of a public trial and life in prison!"  
  
"But I'm innocent," Lex declared, "I was in the building. But I never laid a finger on Ms. Saunders!"  
  
Goldstein glared at McCoy. "You have no murder weapon. As for the so-called DNA link, my client never consented to a DNA sample. However you obtained it ... you violated Mr. Luthor's privacy rights."  
  
McCoy scanned a document "Lex, I've been reviewing your juvenile record. Not exactly appropriate conduct for the heir of one of the most influential multinational firms in the world. The Club Zero incident for instance ..."  
  
"Those records were sealed by the Kansas attorney-general!" Lex insisted.  
  
"Records that would have remained sealed - had you not been charged with a felony offence within seven years." Jack paced around the table. "You should have considered that before you ended Ms. Saunders' life! The attorney-general was so eager to help us out with your DNA sample that we barely had time to fax the paperwork."  
  
"Spare me the theatrics, McCoy," Goldstein sighed. "If that's all you're taking to court, Lex Luthor will be having dinner at home in Metropolis. Tonight!"  
  
"I'm giving you the chance to spare yourselves future grief," McCoy replied, "I may not be so generous once the trial begins."  
  
"There will be no plea bargaining," Lex straightened his blazer, "because I had nothing to do with the murder."  
  
"I guess we'll see you at the arraignment, then, Jack," Goldstein escorted Lex outside.  
  
ADA Southerlyn closed the door. "That DNA stunt you pulled is a gamble. They may try to suppress that evidence."  
  
"I think we have reasonable grounds," McCoy replied, "The DNA samples are only a part of the strategy."  
  
Southerlyn snapped her fingers. "You wanted to see his juvenile records. Establish a pattern of criminal behaviour."  
  
"That's right," McCoy agreed. He picked up the New York Times. "The headlines are already damaging his reputation. The DNA evidence would make our jobs easier. But, if they toss it out, I'm prepared to show that Luthor Jr. has the mindset of someone capable of murder. Anything goes as far as he's concerned. To protect his public image."  
  
"I hope you know what you're doing, Jack," Southerlyn advised. "If we lose, Luthor Corp. will want your head."  
  
[The Luthor Estate, Smallville, 10 a.m.]  
  
"Did that Sheriff Miller seem - well - a bit on edge?" Munch asked, as he parked along the estate driveway.  
  
"Smallville's his hood," Tutuola replied, "The last thing he wants is a pair of New York cops telling him how to do his job..."  
  
"... or telling him how he did it wrong." Munch noted. "I mean - with all the unexplained cases that have occurred in this town - one wonders how the powers-that-be in Topeka have skimmed over the sheriff's department's mediocre success ratio in closing cases. I'm tellin' ya, it's that green meteor."  
  
"Save the alien conspiracies for after hours," Tutuola replied, "This ain't the X-Files." A butler opened the door.  
  
"Detectives Munch and Tutuola," Munch stated, "Sheriff Miller told us that we could find Lionel Luthor here."  
  
The butler grumbled, but relented. The detectives gawked at the ancient relics, tapestries and statues in the main foyer.  
  
"Nice pad," Tutuola remarked.  
  
Lionel tapped his walking cane against the wall. "I moved our ancestral home here stone by stone. I'm told you had some questions for me detectives?" He grabbed the armrest of a leather recliner and sat down. "Coffee? Tea?"  
  
"No, thanks," Tutuola replied. "We have some questions about a package Ms. Saunders was having delivered to Luthor Corp. HQ in Metropolis?"  
  
"Tragic death," Lionel frowned, "I understand Lex is being held as a material witness ..."  
  
"Actually," Munch interjected, "as of midnight Eastern Standard Time, he was charged with first-degree murder."  
  
"Oh," Lionel replied. "Now about that package ..."  
  
Tutuola paused. "You don't seem terribly surprised or bothered by the fact that your son is facing a murder charge?"  
  
"Because I'm confident Luthor Corp. ... my son ... will be exonerated," Lionel remarked.  
  
"We had our white-collar crimes unit review the transactions contained in those FedEx files," Munch continued. "An alarming level of chemical shipments transferred from your ports in Greece to the Albanian coast."  
  
"The eastern Mediterranean has been the route to the Orient since the time of Roman Empire," Lionel replied, "The arrival of the 21st century doesn't change that, detectives. We have many trading partners in the former Soviet republics."  
  
"That may be," Tutuola added, "but our people have asked the FBI to help us figure out the significance of these transactions. You could save your son - and yourself - a whole lot of trouble if you can help us fill out the blanks."  
  
Lionel stopped. He could assist them. No, he thought, they would never understand. I have made my sacrifices for my empire.  
  
And for my country. Who are they to question my efforts?  
  
"I'm sorry detectives," Lionel answered, "but I've discussed this issue with my shipping division. These are nothing more than routine transactions. The Berlin Wall is down, gentlemen. I'm just a businessman expanding my horizons to our capitalist friends east of the Danube."  
  
He stood up. "Leave further questions to my attorneys in Metropolis. Now if you will excuse me, I have to take my medication."  
  
Tutuola shrugged as he left the estate. "It seems there's still a chill between father and son. Notice how he barely broke a sweat when we told him Lex was charged with murder."  
  
"I was noticing his references to East-West tensions and the supposed post- Gorbachev love-in we're supposed to have with our 'capitalist friends' in the former East Bloc," Munch replied. "Lionel Luthor once had a subdivision called Spartan. Manufacturing arms for NATO at the height of the Cold War."  
  
"So you're saying that has something to do with the Saunders case?" Tutuola wondered.  
  
Munch turned around. "I'd be willing to bet that he's hung onto his Pentagon and CIA buddies from that era. And now the past is catching up with him."  
  
"$10 says you're wrong," Tutuola extended his hand.  
  
Munch shook his hand. "Easy money, Fin. Now let's pay a visit to the Smallville Torch: the 'true' voice of the citizens."  
  
"Now, be nice, John," Tutuola replied, "they're only kids."  
  
"Y'know what scares me about this MTV generation?" Munch ranted. "In a few years, these youths will have the power to elect our next president. I don't know about you, but I'm not too keen on them managing my old age pension."  
  
"Relax," Tutuola remarked, "Right now, they're just worried about who's going to ask them to the prom."  
  
[Smallville Torch office, 11 a.m.]  
  
"No, I think we should lead with the story on the school board's program cuts," Chloe argued.  
  
Pete shook his head. "Look, the football team is off its third straight victory. People are talking about a possible championship. The Crows should be on the front page."  
  
Munch and Tutuola entered the Torch office. "I reviewed last week's issue of the Torch," Munch remarked, "While I agree with your editorial that Lex Luthor shouldn't get a free ride from city council just because he's a Luthor, I'm not quite sure how that is relevant to high school students."  
  
"It's relevant," Chloe stated, "because Lex is considered by some as a role model. Many seniors are applying for Luthor Foundation scholarships. The student body deserves to know all about Lex. Before they try to emulate him."  
  
"I'd call that a slam dunk for her, John," Tutuola grinned.  
  
"Editorial choices aside," Munch interjected, "Tell me more about this Clark Kent ... and why on earth would he become Lex Luthor's buddy?"  
  
Pete shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, man. Clark's lived in Smallville his whole life. Lex only moved here recently. To run the Luthor fertilzer plant."  
  
"He makes fertilizer?" Tutuola wondered.  
  
"Clark says the stuff actually works," Pete replied, "although if you ask me, I wouldn't trust anything Luthor Corp. sells." "He makes money off cow pies," Munch deadpanned. "Would you say Clark is close to Lex?"  
  
Chloe frowned. "It's hard to explain. Their relationship is - complex. Clark is nothing like Lex, yet they seem to have this connection. Clark is honest and caring; Lex is deceptive and manipulative. Somehow, Clark still has more faith in Lex's goodness than anybody else does."  
  
"Do you guys believe Lex is just like daddy Lionel?" Tutuola asked.  
  
Pete fiddled with his pen. "Corrupt to the bone. I won't be shedding any tears if you bust him upstate to Attica."  
  
"So, how can we find this Clark Kent?" Munch inquired.  
  
Chloe and Pete traded worried glances. Chloe didn't want her friend entangled in yet another Luthor scandal.  
  
Pete was terrified. These detectives were good. Damn good. Further questions might uncover Clark's secret ... the green meteor ...  
  
"Clark's history class should be done now," Chloe replied. "I can take you to him." She looked at Pete and mouthed 'Call Mr. Kent' before leaving with the detectives.  
  
Pete was already on the phone. "Mr. Kent? I just wanted to give you a heads- up. Some NYPD detectives are digging up dirt on Lex Luthor, but they also want to talk to Clark."  
  
"Thanks," Jonathan Kent replied. He slowly hung up the receiver. Clark's friendship with Lex Luthor had been a constant source of anxiety. He knew that he could never trust the son of Lionel Luthor. Now Lex's missteps threatened to expose Clark's secret again.  
  
At Smallville High, Clark caught up with Lana in the hallway. "So I hear something big happened at The Talon last night?"  
  
"Yeah," Lana replied, "some big city detectives from New York were asking about Lex Luthor."  
  
"The Saunders murder," Clark feared. "They're looking for evidence that might link him to it."  
  
"Clark," Lana interjected, "they were also asking about you. Specifically, your friendship with Lex."  
  
As they turned a corner, they noticed Chloe talking to two detectives.  
  
"Hi guys," Chloe waved, "these are NYPD detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuola. They're investigating any Luthor links to the Saunders murder."  
  
"Really," Clark sighed.  
  
"The sheriff's department didn't have much, other than Lex Luthor's occasional fits of rage," Munch skimmed his notebook. "The infamous 'parking ticket incident', that sorta thing."  
  
"That's why we'd like to talk to you, Clark," Tutuola offered. "To fill in the gaps. Is there some place we can talk?"  
  
"Uhhh, sure," Clark said, "we can talk at my farm. It's not too far from here."  
  
Munch looked up from his notebook. Chloe and Lana had exchanged a few words. Neither seemed too comfortable in each other's company. They both looked at Clark again. A shared concern in the Kent kid's welfare.  
  
"I've got to get to The Talon," Lana said, "Clark? I'll call you later."  
  
Clark took Chloe aside. "Do you know why they want to talk to me?"  
  
"They think you could shed light on Lex's activities last week," Chloe replied, "They're after Lex."  
  
"Detectives," Clark announced, "I'll just get my truck and you can follow me."  
  
"Did you pick up on that, Fin?" Munch asked.  
  
"You mean the slow chill that came down when Chloe and Lana were put side- by-side just then," Tutuola replied. "Yeah. They've both got the hots for Clark. No doubt about it."  
  
"Looks like Clark's got two - count 'em two - potential love interests," Munch noted, "He'd better douse that fire before it's too late."  
  
"I don't think Clark should take advice on relationships from you, Dr. Love," Tutuola joked.  
  
"You've been talking to my ex again, have you?" Munch grinned.  
  
They closed the door of their sedan and followed Clark Kent to his farm. Perhaps they'll finally get some leads.  
  
[Manhattan, 12:10 p.m.]  
  
The hot dog vendor beamed. "Ahhh, Mr. Carver. The usual, right?"  
  
"One Polish sausage," ADA Ron Carver stated. He paid the vendor and walked briskly to the courthouse. "I hope you guys don't mind. We'll have to talk- and-walk. I've got closing arguments to make in about 15 minutes."  
  
"Thanks for seeing us on such short notice," Southerlyn replied. "This Saunders case is like walking through a minefield! The Luthors are well- connected. How many politicians owe their careers to Luthor money? Even my boss was reluctant to go forward."  
  
"Capt. Cragen even had to cancel Munch and Fin's vacations, so they can go to Kansas to dig up evidence on Lex," ADA Cabot remarked.  
  
"So you've got McCoy taking on the Saunders case, some SVU detectives in Smallville collecting evidence," Carver whistled, "Sounds like a bottle of Tylenol waiting to happen."  
  
"And now we'd like your help," Southerlyn added. "With the mysterious chemical shipments from Luthor warehouses in Greece to points unknown in the former Soviet bloc, there might be a file for your guys in the Major Case squad."  
  
"I've talked to McCoy," Carver replied between bites, "The shipment angle of the case is daunting. The port here is a major transatlantic transfer point. Detectives Eames and Goren are in the middle of a mob case right now ... I'll have to talk to Capt. Deakins. Tell you what, leave the shipment file with my office. I'll see what I can do."  
  
"You rock, Ron," Southerlyn grinned.  
  
"Save the kudos for Jack - if he can make the murder charge on Lex Luthor stick," Carver finished his lunch, "If he manages to take down the Luthors, with his D.A. record ... he could run for Arthur Branch's job."  
  
"Forget about the D.A.'s office," Cabot interjected, "McCoy could run for a seat in Albany, governor, Congress."  
  
"This case will be won or lost on the facts of the evidence," Carver noted, "not on the public's perception of Luthor wrongdoing. Emphasize that with your boss, Serena. Well, I've got to get my own conviction now. Alexandra, good to see you again."  
  
"So, do you think Jack has a case against Lex Luthor?" Cabot wondered.  
  
"The DNA angle is iffy," Southerlyn replied, "but everything else points to Lex Luthor. Like Carver said, all we need to do is prove the facts."  
  
"And how are John and Fin doing in Smallville?" Cabot grinned.  
  
"I got a weird email from Det. Munch yesterday," Southerlyn replied, "something about a vast state-wide corporate-political conspiracy that reaches the governor's mansion in Topeka. All designed at protecting Luthor Corp. Good thing Fin's there to keep John in check. Not surprisingly, Lionel Luthor stonewalled them. Lex does have a friend there. Some farm kid, Clark Kent."  
  
Carver was right, she thought, this was a daunting case. McCoy intended to go to the wall on this case. Luthor Corp. should not be underestimated. She looked up at the American flag flapping atop the courthouse. A conviction could transform Executive D.A. Jack McCoy into the people's champion. His path to the Albany statehouse would be clear.  
  
If he lost ... well, Luthor's lawyers could bury the D.A.'s office with malicious prosecution suits. McCoy's career - and those of his associates - would be over.  
  
That Clark Kent could be the lead, she thought.  
  
We may have to subpoena him. 


	7. CH 7

[Arraignment, District Court, Wednesday, November 27]  
  
The bailiff announced the next case. "Docket Number 131938, People vs. Alexander Luthor."  
  
ADA Southerlyn looked across the aisle. Lex had a team of six attorneys - all famous in their own right as lawyers for celebrities and sports icons.  
  
Judge Fitzwater peered over his reading glasses. "And how will your client plea?"  
  
Lex stepped forward. "I plead not guilty, Your Honour. I'm innocent - and this trial is a mockery."  
  
"Might I remind your client, Mr. Goldstein," the judge began, "that it would be advisable that he keep his mouth shut until the trial."  
  
"Yes, Your Honour," Goldstein replied. "I also request that Mr. Luthor be released on his own recognizance. He is a leader of the business community. Due to Lionel Luthor's recent accident, tens of thousands of Luthor Corp. employees rely on Lex's guidance and management on a daily basis."  
  
"Your Honour," Southerlyn interjected, "Chelsea Saunders had her throat slashed! Due to the extreme violence of the crime, the people expect Lex Luthor to be remanded into custody without bail. We also ask that Mr. Luthor surrender his passport. Luthor Corp. holds many properties around the globe. He's a definite flight risk!"  
  
"Lex Luthor may be a captain of industry, Mr. Goldstein," the judge remarked, "but he's also charged with a heinous first-degree murder! Mr. Luthor, you are hereby remanded to Sing Sing Correctional Facility without bail until your trial. You must also surrender your passport."  
  
"This is farce!" Lex shouted. "I'm being used as a sacrificial pawn for my father's Cold War sins. I'm innocent!"  
  
The judge pounded his gavel. "Mr. Goldstein, restrain your client or I will have both of you charged with contempt of court. I will have order in this courtroom! Order!"  
  
Before the bailiffs dragged Lex away, he leaned towards Southerlyn. "I hope your boss intends to do his job, not vilify me to fast-track his chances in Albany and the governor's office." Lex struggled as the bailiffs shoved him down a hallway.  
  
Southerlyn stepped outside the courthouse - and faced a throng of reporters.  
  
"Ms. Southerlyn, is the D.A. office seeking to pursue the death penalty for Mr. Luthor?" "The Luthors have powerful friends in Albany ... and Washington. Aren't you taking a risk by pursuing his course of action?" "What do you know about the mysterious package that was reportedly found in the Park Ave. condo?" "Will you subpoena Lionel Luthor as a witness?"  
  
A petite, middle-aged woman shoved her way through the mob. She pushed a photo in Serena's face.  
  
It was a graduation photo of Chelsea Saunders. Piercing green eyes. Honey blonde shoulder-length hair.  
  
"My daughter," Mrs. Saunders sobbed, "she graduated at the top of her class at Hudson U. Luthor Corp. was to be her dream job. Now, Lionel's bastard of a son took it all away! Look at her, counsellor! This is my daughter. She was murdered to protect Luthor Corp. She is what this trial's about. Not Luthor's billions!"  
  
Southerlyn held her hand up to her mouth in horror. They would surely lose this trial, she feared, if they allowed Luthor's celebrity to suffocate the truth. Chelsea Saunders was the victim. She's the one they should be protecting.  
  
The mob of reporters cut off her path. The glare of camera lights and bulb flashes was relentless. Suddenly, two detectves barged through the masses.  
  
"Shove that camera in my face again, and see what happens!" Briscoe snarled.  
  
Green escorted Southerlyn to their sedan. They screeched away from the courthouse, pursued by cameras.  
  
"You alright, counsellor?" Briscoe asked.  
  
"I'm fine, Lennie," Southerlyn caught her breath. "I think we may have underestimated the public interest in this trial!"  
  
"Where to, Serena?" Green inquired, as he stopped at a red light.  
  
"I need to talk to Captain Cragen," Southerlyn replied. "McCoy wants an update on Munch and Fin's investigation in Smallville."  
  
"You've got the conspiracy theorist and the ex-narc digging up dirt on Lex?" Briscoe exclaimed. "I don't know who to feel bad for ... Lex Luthor or the people of Smallville."  
  
"Well, you're gonna have to set aside departmental rivalries for this one, Briscoe," Southerlyn added, "Jack's planning a full court press on Lex and Luthor Corp. We're finalizing paperwork this afternoon to subpoena Lionel Luthor. That package you found is hot property. We just need to unravel it."  
  
"Don't tell me you'd rather be pounding the pavement in Kansas than good ol' New York, Lennie" Green joked. "Just be glad McCoy didn't ship your butt out to the boonies. Not that I wouldn't mind a break from your looking at your mug."  
  
"See the grief I hafta put up with, Serena?" Briscoe shrugged, "I thought I gave up nagging when I got divorced."  
  
Southerlyn howled in laughter.  
  
[Special Victims Unit, One Police Plaza, Wednesday, November 27]  
  
ADA Cabot walked up to Det. Benson. "Assemblyman Connors' attorney filed a motion to suppress his employment records from his teaching days. So much for establishing a pattern of abuse."  
  
"Without that," Benson declared, "the defense will just carve up our witnesses on the stand ... bringing up their personal history, drug convictions."  
  
Stabler cursed. "So we're just gonna let that son-of-a-bitch walk?"  
  
Cragen interjected. "No, we aren't Elliot. The assemblyman worked on Wall Street before getting elected. Maybe he has some skeletons. Stabler, why don't you rattle the pinstripes down there and find out. Benson, that Nichols girl still won't talk?"  
  
"She's absolutely devastated," Benson stated, "She refuses to press charges. The memories are still too painful."  
  
"Ask her again. Please." Cragen pleaded. "Be a sympathetic ear. She's the best chance we've got to keep that scumbag off the streets."  
  
Southerlyn approached the Captain. "I see you've got problems of your own."  
  
"Those problems could be lessened - if I had two more detectives back on the job." Cragen complained.  
  
"And we'll have John and Fin back at the SVU once we've gathered the evidence we need," Southerlyn replied. "McCoy wants an update on their progress in Smallville."  
  
Cragen sighed. "Lionel Luthor refuses to cooperate, which speaks volumes. Lex had some run-ins with local authorities in the past, but those amount to little more than road rage. He's got a buddy in Smallville: Clark Kent. I'm waiting to hear from Munch in an hour about their progress."  
  
Southerlyn seemed intrigued. "Lex may have confided in him. By the way, D.A. Carver is looking over those questionable shipments. If they originated from our port, we may have a lever to use against Luthor Corp." "Lt. Van Buren brought me up to speed on the Saunders case," Cragen replied, "I could care less about McCoy's political aspirations or city hall's spin doctoring on this case. If the evidence pans out, you tell your boss to nail Luthor to the wall. Lending extra investigators puts me out on a limb. If this thing blows up in Arthur Branch's face, I don't intend to be the sucker left without a chair when the music stops."  
  
ADA Cabot waved. "About this motion to suppress ...?"  
  
Cragen grumbled. "Great. Another lawyer. A word of advice, Serena. Protect your own butt. I knew a guy on the vice squad of Metropolis P.D. He dared to investigate Lex during his wild teen years."  
  
"What happened to him?" Southerlyn wondered.  
  
"He became the fall guy. The D.A., the police chief, even the mayor turned against him. 'The detective was out on some personal vendetta', they claimed," Cragen paused. "He got so depressed, he hit the bottle. He blew his brains out with his service revolver about a year ago."  
  
"My god," Southerlyn gasped.  
  
"My experience has been that, if Jack McCoy's prosecuting a high-profile case," Cragen declared, "he'll settle for nothing less than 110% from anyone. That means he'll either destroy Lex and tear Luthor Corp. apart at the seams, or plunge every one of us into a no-win media circus if he loses big-time. If my guys get caught up in some McCoy-Luthor firestorm, I promise you, there will be hell to pay." He marched off to see Cabot.  
  
"Crap hitting the fan with the Luthor investigation, eh?" Det. Stabler remarked.  
  
Southerlyn frowned. "Wait till we get this case to trial ..."  
  
[Clark's 'fortress of solitude', Kent farm, Smallville, Wednesday November 27]  
  
"So I see you're an amateur astronomer, Clark," Munch pointed at the telescope beside the window.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Clark replied. "You guys wanted to talk to me about Lex?"  
  
"We just want to know if Lex said anything that might seem, well -" Tutuola began, "of interest to our investigation."  
  
"When did he leave for New York?" Munch asked.  
  
"Lex called me from his car just before I left for school," Clark replied, "That was about quarter to nine in the morning on Monday of last week. He was on his way to Metropolis International."  
  
"And how long did he say he was gonna stay there?" Tutuola added.  
  
"Lemme check my email," Clark suggested, "He wrote me from Luthor Corp.'s offices on Wall Street." Clark clicked his computer's mouse a few times.  
  
"There it is, detectives," Clark pointed on the screen:  
  
'Hey Clark,  
  
I haven't had much sleep since I got here. End-of-year financial statements to our accountants and such. Anything new on your front?  
  
Oh, by the way, tell Lana she could send The Talon's end-of-month statements to our office here. I should be here for the better part of the week. Cleaning up a problem.  
  
With the likely contraction of the Montreal baseball franchise, maybe I should swing by the MLB offices and make a bid?  
  
See ya next week, Lex'  
  
"The Talon?" Tutuola inquired.  
  
"Lex is a silent partner in The Talon," Clark replied, "Lana tells me you stopped by there before."  
  
"Yes we have," Munch nodded, "They have great coffee. Although if you ask me, your pal Chloe is a piece of work. Is she always that antsy?"  
  
"I know Chloe can be aggressive whenever her reporter's instincts are switched on," Clark replied, "but her heart's in the right place."  
  
"Has Lex sent you a lot of email this past week?" Tutuola asked.  
  
Clark immediately closed his mailbox. "Look, I know where you guys are headed. You think Lex had something to do with the Chelsea Saunders murder. He's not like his father. He's a really good guy deep inside. You just have to get to know him better."  
  
"Your email correspondence is evidence," Munch stated. "I realize you don't want to betray your friend's confidence, but this IS a murder investigation. Ms. Saunders' throat was slashed. From ear to ear. She lost her chance to defend herself. Your emails may very well prove that Lex Luthor is guilty - or innocent. The FBI has a computer lab at their field office in Metropolis ..."  
  
"You know that, if you refuse to cooperate willingly," Tutuola warned, "we can ask a judge for a warrant and we'll take your computer anyway."  
  
Jonathan Kent stepped into the loft. "Is there a problem, Clark?"  
  
"Uhhh, Dad," Clark mumbled, "This is Detective Munch and Detective Tutuola. They're from the NYPD."  
  
Jonathan shook their hands. "I'm Clark's father. You're looking into the Saunders murder?"  
  
"Lex Luthor has been charged with her murder," Munch declared, "We would like your son's help. Specifically, the email he's been trading with Lex in New York."  
  
"Well, I'm sure my son is willing to cooperate with you, detectives," Jonathan stated. "Clark ..."  
  
Clark stood up. "No. Lex is my friend. He would never kill someone. He just wouldn't! I'm sorry, but I'm not about to betray his friendship. You can do whatever you have to, to force me to cooperate. I know he didn't kill Chelsea Saunders."  
  
"Clark! You are going to help these detectives!" Jonathan exclaimed.  
  
Tutuola stepped closer to Clark. "The best thing you can do to help Lex is let us take your computer up to the FBI's lab in Metropolis. Like John says, your email could even help exonerate Lex."  
  
Clark hesitated. "You think my email could get Lex out of this mess?"  
  
"Right now, all fingers point to Lex as the murderer," Munch replied, "That's why we need all the evidence we can get. To have a clearer picture."  
  
Clark relented. "I don't like this." He unplugged all the computer cables.  
  
Tutuola picked up the hard drive. "You did the right thing, Clark. We'll get your computer back to you as soon as possible."  
  
"He's right," Jonathan patted Clark's shoulder. "The best way you can help Lex is to help them get all the facts straight."  
  
Clark frowned. "Then why do I feel like I've sold out a friend."  
  
[Office of Executive D.A. Jack McCoy, Wednesday November 27]  
  
McCoy skimmed through the files. "What did Munch and Fin find out about this Clark kid?"  
  
Southerlyn reviewed her notes. "Cragen says Clark voluntarily surrendered his computer to the detectives. He thinks he's sold out his friend."  
  
"He may very well have," McCoy remarked. "If you ask me, Sing Sing's a fitting place for a cold-blooded murdered."  
  
"Alleged murderer, Jack," Southerlyn remarked, "Innocent until proven guilty, remember?"  
  
"So, this Clark Kent character was reluctant to cooperate with us, eh?" McCoy pondered. "Who were the other Smallville students associated with him?"  
  
Southerlyn handed over the file. "Lana Lang, a partner with Lex in a joint venture: The Talon. Pete Ross, Clark's best buddy - and someone with no love of the Luthors. Chloe Sullivan, editor of the school paper The Torch."  
  
McCoy reviewed the file. "Munch says Chloe sent Lex an email inquiring about Lex Corp's official stand on greenhouse emissions, etc, etc.. She objected to the request for her laptop?"  
  
"She flat out refused to cooperate," Southerlyn stated. "Not surprisingly, she invoked freedom of the press. She has no love for Luthor Corp., but she's committed to her principles. 'This isn't 1938 Berlin', were her exact words."  
  
"I value free speech as much as the next guy," McCoy argued, "but Ms. Sullivan's right to a free press does not override the Chelsea Saunders family's right to have justice. Or even Lex's right to have access to information that might even exonerate him. "  
  
McCoy spun around in his chair.  
  
"Jack?" Southerlyn inquired.  
  
"Forward the necessary papers to Topeka," McCoy announced. "I want sworn affidavits from Lana Lang, Pete Ross and Chloe Sullivan about their communications with either Clark or Lex over the past two weeks. Issue a search warrant for the Torch offices. I want Chloe's laptop, interview files ... anything Lex-related ..."  
  
"You think the Kansas A.G. will appreciate these heavy-handed tactics?" Southerlyn warned.  
  
"That's just tough," McCoy muttered. "I'm tired of pussy-footing around potential witnesses. They've known Lex for over a year now. They know how Luthor Corp. twists the law to serve their own ends. They know things that could either set Lex free, or put a lethal injection in his arm. I'll have Branch put in a call to the governor's office if there's any friction."  
  
Southerlyn gathered her files and began to leave.  
  
McCoy peered through his window. "One other thing, counsellor. Prepare a subpoena for Clark Kent. I intend to put him on the stand. My hunch is he knows more than he's letting on."  
  
"I hope what you're looking for is justice," Southerlyn replied, "not a crucifixion." 


	8. CH 8

[Judge Fitzwater's chambers, Thursday November 28]  
  
The judge shook his head vigorously. "The DNA evidence is out, Mr. McCoy."  
  
"If this is about Mr. Luthor's sealed juvenile record," McCoy began, "the Kansas attorney general has the authority to open the file in the event Lex is charged with a felony offence. In my book, pre-meditated murder qualifies as a felony."  
  
"Your Honour!" Lex' attorney insisted, "Only the governor of Kansas has the power - under the deal - to reopen Lex' files. McCoy issued a request to the A.G. in Topeka, who merely informed the governor that the act was already done. It's improper procedure."  
  
"You say tomato, I say to-MAH-to," McCoy quipped.  
  
Justice Fitzwater sighed. "Mr. McCoy, save the stand-up routine for Madison Square Gardens. You can't just run roughshod over Mr. Luthor's expectation of privacy and seize a DNA sample he provided when he was only a minor!"  
  
"It's eventual discovery," McCoy argued. "The sample is part-and-parcel of Lex's records. When he was charged with first-degree murder, surely he knew that his juvenile records - and any DNA samples - would no longer be protected by this deal."  
  
"I see it differently, counsellor," the judge declared. "You may have been justified in requesting Mr. Luthor's existing records, but you can't just go on a fishing expedition looking for evidence you would otherwise not have access to."  
  
"Thank you, Your Honour," Goldstein grinned.  
  
"Not so fast, Mr. Goldstein," the judge replied. "While the D.A.'s office may not have followed the fine print of Lex Luthor's deal, they have respected its spirit. He's charged with murder. That erases, at the very least, any expectation that those records would remain sealed. McCoy, the DNA evidence is out, but Luthor's juvenile records stays."  
  
McCoy nodded in satisfaction. He didn't need the DNA evidence. Lex Luthor's past behaviour would demonstrate that he possessed the mindset of a calculated killer.  
  
Jack dialed his cellphone. "Hi? Serena. It's Jack. Tell me something ... have you ever been to Metropolis before? Well, you'll have your chance sooner than you think ..."  
  
[Smallville City Hall, Thursday November 28]  
  
Lana stepped out of Committee Room 327 and sat on the bench beside Pete. "That wasn't too bad."  
  
"If you didn't mind also signing that gag order," Pete added. "'I, the undersigned, do swear under oath not to discuss what I have revealed in this affidavit until the conclusion of proceedings ... yadda, yadda.'"  
  
"They just don't want our testimony to get out before the trial," Lana replied.  
  
"How come Clark didn't have to give a sworn affidavit?" Lana wondered.  
  
"I talked to Detective Tutuola," Pete replied. "He says the D.A. has 'other plans' for Clark."  
  
Lana squirmed. "I don't like the sound of that."  
  
Tutuola stepped out of the committee room. "You have a state trooper's division around here?"  
  
"There's a station just off the interstate off-ramp," Lana answered.  
  
"Cool," Tutuola thumbed the folders. "Once your pal, Chloe, gives her statement, we'll finally be done with all this paperwork."  
  
Pete looked down the corridor. "What's taking her so long, anyway?"  
  
[The Torch office, Smallville High, Thursday November 28]  
  
Chloe opened the door to find half a dozen sheriff's deputies opening file cabinets and diskette cases.  
  
"What the hell's going on here?" Chloe demanded.  
  
"Search warrant, Ms. Sullivan," Sheriff Miller stated as he presented her with the warrant. "Straight from Topeka."  
  
"They can't ... DO ... this!" Chloe repeated. She opened her contact book. "I'm calling the American Civil Liberties Union!"  
  
"You could do that, Ms. Sullivan." Munch replied. "You'll argue freedom of the press. Our guys will argue that Chelsea Saunders' right to justice overrides your right to free speech, unsavoury though it may sound. The ACLU will take it to the Kansas Supreme Court, maybe to the U.S. Supreme Court. It will drag on for months. Meanwhile, your files and computer collect dust in some evidence locker in Topeka the whole time. So I'd suggest you cooperate ... and spare yourself the agony of not having a laptop during your sophomore year."  
  
"I'll take that risk!" Chloe exclaimed. "I know all about the N.Y. D.A.'s office. Arthur Branch was elected on a tough, right-wing law-and-order platform meant to appease a post-9/11 city. Financed with Luthor Corp. money. Call off your stormtroopers, detective, or I'll let the Daily Planet know about these bully-boy tactics!"  
  
"For the record, Arthur Branch doesn't call the shots for me. New York's Finest does," Munch snapped back, "and I've just about had it up to here with your Gestapo insinuations. Let me remind you that the German papers were willing collaborators in Hitler's propaganda machine!"  
  
Clark walked into the office. "What's ... going on here?"  
  
Chloe frowned as a deputy carried off her laptop. "Hey! That's mine."  
  
"By order of the Attorney General of Kansas," Munch stated, "I'm executing a search warrant for evidence pertaining to Ms. Sullivan's correspondence with one Lex Luthor over the past two weeks. Not to mention her correspondence with you, Mr. Kent."  
  
"You've taken my computer already," Clark complained, "what does Chloe have to do with it?"  
  
Chloe crossed her arms in defiance, as the sheriff's deputies carted off several files, diskettes and CD-ROMs.  
  
Munch pulled out a news clipping from the Daily Planet. "See this girl, Clark? That's Chelsea Saunders. She was not much older that your buddy, Lex. She was murdered, you understand? Murdered! Whether Lex Luthor is guilty of it, that's for a jury to decide. Look, I'm just here to collect evidence. I wanna make sure whoever did it gets his comeuppance. You guys may only be minors, but don't for a minute think that I won't hesitate to slap you two silly with obstruction of justice charges. If you two give me cause."  
  
Munch glanced inside one of the evidence boxes. "Deputy! I said two weeks' worth of files. Not two years! Leave the rest of this here. We don't need it."  
  
Chloe was resigned to the unfortunate situation. "When can I expect my stuff back?"  
  
Munch sighed. "We'll have the feds sift through this material in Metropolis. We'll copy what we need. What we don't need ... you can expect back as soon as possible. Fin and I aren't the bad guys here."  
  
Chloe scratched her head. "I still don't like this ... but, if my files and transcripts are actually going to help you uncover the facts behind the Saunders killing, who am I - a mere high school reporter - to oppose that? Sorry about comparing you and your partner to those brownshirts in Munich. It was unfair. You're right. You're just doing a job."  
  
Munch cleaned his glasses. "You can appreciate the pressure we have down here. We're seriously short of manpower, that's why Sheriff Miller was kind enough to help me out. If you want someone to blame, it's the Kansas A.G. "  
  
"Can I quote you on that?" Chloe beamed.  
  
Munch raised a curious eyebrow. "On how your sheriff's been helping us? Absolutely. On my disdain for the Kansas A.G.? Probably not, but I guess it's too late now. Come on, Ms. Sullivan. I'll give you a lift to city hall. If we don't get your affidavit back to the Big Apple by end of business Friday, the D.A. will want my hide."  
  
Clark was about to join them when Munch stopped him. "We don't need an affidavit from you, Mr. Kent. For the moment."  
  
Clark seemed puzzled. "I'm Lex's best friend. I probably know more about his activities over the past two weeks than my friends do."  
  
"I wish I knew, Clark," Munch shrugged. He checked his cellphone.  
  
1 TEXT MESSAGE: 'Serena's on her way. Pick up at Metropolis Int'l tonite - Fin'  
  
Nuts, Munch grumbled to himself, a lawyer shadowing our every move.  
  
[JFK International Airport, Thursday November 28]  
  
McCoy leaned out the driver's window. "Remember. Take the low-key approach. The Kent kid's probably rattled enough as it is. But not too low-key. I expect him to testify in New York next week and I won't hesitate to charge him with obstruction of justice if he resists."  
  
Southerlyn pulled out the handle of her travel bag. "I'll stop by the FBI field office in Metropolis to look into their findings from Clark and Chloe's computer drives."  
  
"So Ms. Sullivan cooperated then?" McCoy inquired.  
  
"I think her curiosity about this case took precedence over her need to protect her media rights," Southerlyn replied. "She may even scoop the Planet!"  
  
"If only Lex Luthor could be so helpful," McCoy said, as he waved and closed the car door.  
  
Serena stepped to the Northwest Airlines counter. "I have a flight to Kansas. Direct to Metropolis International."  
  
She observed the sniffer dogs and heavily armed officers on patrol in the departures terminal. The world had indeed changed since September 11 ...  
  
[Hell's Kitchen, New York City, Thursday November 28]  
  
Dozens of SWAT officers swarmed around a derelict warehouse. Detectives Green and Briscoe jumped out of their sedan, with guns drawn.  
  
"Thanks for the backup," Detective Eames (Major Case Squad) murmured.  
  
"We had no choice, actually," Green replied. "The dispatcher called for all available units within a two-mile radius."  
  
"Lemme guess," Briscoe added, "this has something to do with the mob."  
  
"We got a tip a mob lieutenant is personally supervising some sort of shipment overseas," Eames replied.  
  
"Open up!" the SWAT commander ordered.  
  
"Showtime, Ed!" Briscoe hollered. One huge officer swung a battering ram, bursting the door open. Immediately, a dozen officers streamed into the warehouse and took cover behind a stack of crates.  
  
"NYPD. Drop your weapons. Now!" one of the officers ordered. The mobsters immediately raised their hands in the air.  
  
"Well, whaddya know, it's Mr. Louie Grundini, former Atlantic City hitman and extortionist-extraordinaire!" Eames quipped as she slapped on the cuffs. "Now a gun merchant for the underworld. You've moved up in the world!"  
  
"Come on, I'm only a wholesaler" Grundini insisted, "Surplus goods, nothing more."  
  
"Holy canoli!" Briscoe exclaimed as he examined one of the crates. "There's enough ammunition in here to start a revolution!"  
  
Green looked at a table strewn with guns, knives and bullets. "Some of these knives are even marked US ARMY. Likely stolen. The shipping order says 'Party favours'. Destination: Colombia."  
  
"Must be some party!" Eames declared.  
  
Briscoe passed by one of the arrested henchmen. "Hey, I coulda sworn I went to high school with that guy!"  
  
"So how come Goren's not here?" Green wondered. "His dance card was full?"  
  
"He couldn't. He's knee-deep in three months' worth of telephone records. The never-ending battle against mob money laundering." Eames replied, as she supervised the collection of evidence. "Fun, eh?"  
  
Green laughed. "Phone records? Poor sucker."  
  
[Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Thursday November 28, 10: 40 p.m.]  
  
The prison guard glanced at the restroom. "It's all clear. Luthor, you can go ahead and do your business."  
  
Lex looked at himself in the mirror. The plain orange prison jumpsuit made him look small. Insignificant. He stood in front of the urinal.  
  
"Must you supervise while take a leak, or can I at least do that by myself?" Lex demanded.  
  
"I'll be outside," the guard grimaced.  
  
Lex finished and walked over to the sink. He splashed water on his face. The day had been long. The morning was spent plotting trial strategy with Richard, his attorney. The one-hour exercise period. Fish and chips for lunch. A heated phone call with his father in the afternoon. 'I've done all I can," Lionel had said, "Stand and fight! It's in your blood.' Salisbury steak and mixed vegetables for dinner. The evening spent reading a two- month old copy of the New York Post. Heck, they were still talking about Game 2 of the World Series!  
  
As he raised his head towards the mirror, he saw another prisoner in the reflection.  
  
"You're Lex Luthor," the six foot man stated, then punched Lex in the stomach.  
  
Lex collapsed on the floor. The man kicked him again in the stomach. Lex' howls brought two guards into the restroom.  
  
"Goddamn Luthor!" the man swore as he was quickly subdued. "My old man died 'cuz of your company!"  
  
Two more guards arrived and wrestled the man to the ground. Lex coughed and wheezed.  
  
"Somebody tell the warden!" one of the guards barked. "We need a full lockdown now!"  
  
Another guard hauled Lex onto his feet. "We'll take you to the infirmary."  
  
Lex felt humiliated. He shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of his life in a hellhole like this. His name could not protect him here.  
  
In Sing Sing prison, the name Luthor would surely kill him. 


	9. CH 9

[The Talon, Friday November 29, 8:45 a.m.]  
  
"Lana, this is Assistant D.A. Serena Southerlyn," Munch nodded towards the counselor.  
  
"Nice to meet you," Lana shook her hand.  
  
"I realize things have been tense over the past few days," Southerlyn explained, "but speed is of the essence in this investigation. As you know, Luthor Corp. is using all of its resources to delay and stall the trial."  
  
"I just can't believe Lex would have anything to do with that killing," Lana said. "Another double espresso?"  
  
"Yes, please." Southerlyn looked around. "John, you mentioned that Lex runs a fertilizer plant in town."  
  
"That's the story," Munch sipped on his black coffee. "Apparently, he turned down an opportunity to work at Luthor Corp. HQ to remain in Smallville."  
  
Southerlyn seemed puzzled. "Hmm, that doesn't sound like someone angling for a corporate takeover."  
  
"Maybe so," Tutuola remarked. "but I just got this bad vibe about the Luthors. Both father and son."  
  
"Why the haste to get to Kansas, Ms. Southerlyn?" Munch asked. "We had the state troopers deliver the affidavits to Topeka overnight. We were about to deliver the seized evidence from Kent and Sullivan this morning."  
  
"We can go to Metropolis this afternoon," Southerlyn sipped her espresso. "Great coffee, by the way, Lana. Actually, do you happen to know where Clark Kent is now?"  
  
"He has homeroom around 9:10," Lana checked the wall clock. "About 20 minutes from now."  
  
"John, Fin . have another cup of coffee," Southerlyn placed a $10 bill on the table, "I need to talk to Clark right away."  
  
"I hope it's not serious. I could come along?" Lana inquired. "Christine can watch the Talon for a bit."  
  
"You might as well know, Lana, because you're going to find out anyway," Southerlyn replied. "I'm going to subpoena your friend to testify - in New York."  
  
"The plot thickens," Munch remarked.  
  
[Smallville High, Friday November 29]  
  
Southerlyn and Lana pulled into the school parking lot.  
  
"Whoa, who's that blonde with Lana?" Pete answered.  
  
Lana pointed towards Clark. "There he is, Ms. Southerlyn."  
  
Clark walked towards them. "Hi Lana."  
  
"Clark, this is -" Lana began.  
  
Southerlyn extended her hand. "-Assistant D.A. Southerlyn. I've heard much about you, Mr. Kent." She presented him with an envelope.  
  
Clark read the document. "'. New York District Attorney's office . ordered to testify . to present material evidence pertaining to Lex Luthor . ' This is a subpoena?"  
  
"I wish we could have had you submit an affidavit so you wouldn't have to disrupt your classes," Southerlyn stated, "but you're Lex Luthor's best friend. The D.A.'s office intend to put you on the stand. I'm sorry."  
  
Clark was stunned. "Do I have to go to New York right away?"  
  
"Depending on how long the trial goes," Southerlyn replied, "we will need to summon you sometime next week or the week after. And I'm afraid you have no choice."  
  
"I am NOT going to tell the jury that I think Lex is guilty, because he's not. He can't be!" Clark shook his head in disbelief.  
  
"You'll be under oath, so you'll have to tell them the truth . or risk contempt of court charges," Southerlyn explained. She checked her watch. "I'm afraid I've got to run. I have one more errand to do."  
  
"In Smallville?" Lana wondered.  
  
"The Luthor Estate," Southerlyn answered.  
  
[Luthor Estate, Friday November 29]  
  
Southerlyn rang the doorbell.  
  
The butler answered. "Mr. Luthor has been expecting you."  
  
Southerlyn gasped at the opulence of the main foyer. Ancient statues, artifacts and tapestries.  
  
"You're from the D.A.'s office?" Lionel inquired from his seat near the fireplace. "Let me guess, you're here to deliver a subpoena demanding my presence before that Star Chamber you call a court of justice?"  
  
"How did you --?" Southerlyn was surprised.  
  
"Lex's legal team suspected you might try such a stunt," Lionel replied. "On the table over there, my counsel have the necessary papers. You would call it a 'motion to dismiss' that so-called subpoena."  
  
"On what grounds?" Southerlyn demanded.  
  
"My doctors, therapists and care-givers feel that the trip to New York and the subsequent trial would place my health in danger," Lionel recited, "and that a subpoena forcing me to testify about those ridiculous allegations regarding those chemical shipments . well, it would be cruel and unusual punishment. You might appeal. I'm quite prepared to fight it all the way to the Supreme Court. I have friends in the capital. Do you, counselor?"  
  
"Is that a threat, Mr. Luthor?" Southerlyn declared.  
  
"It's a word of advice," Lionel replied. "I consider Arthur Branch a fair and just man. That's why I supported his bid for the D.A.'s office. Jack McCoy is a self-righteous prick. If you have any ambition in you, Ms. .?"  
  
"Southerlyn." she stated. "and D.A. McCoy has an enviable record - by any standard."  
  
"Hitch your wagon to a winner, Ms. Southerlyn," Lionel turned away from her voice. "If there's nothing further, I have physiotherapy in 15 minutes."  
  
I'm one-for-two, Southerlyn grumbled as she returned to Smallville. Clark has his subpoena. Lionel effectively rejected his.  
  
Cragen was right, she feared. If McCoy misread his chances in this trial, Luthor will pull every lever, push every button - to punish those who dared to tarnish him.  
  
Which is why I need to get to Metropolis to go over that computer evidence and build an airtight case.  
  
[Major Case Squad, One Police Plaza, Friday November 29]  
  
"Good morning Captain Deakins," van Buren smiled. "You mentioned that you've come across something of interest to the Luthor investigation?"  
  
"Detective Goren has been sifting through endless phone records," Deakins replied, "He was trying to find a pattern ... something to connect to mob to money laundering. It's a slow process, but I think we've come across some interesting calls."  
  
They opened the meeting room, and found Goren playing SOCOM: Navy Seals on a Playstation 2.  
  
Goren leaped to his feet. "Captain! Lieutenant van Buren ... hey there.I was just doing some field research."  
  
Deakins seemed amused. "If you're not too busy, detective, would you care to explain what you discovered this morning?"  
  
Goren held up his hand. "Just a sec." He dashed down the corridor. When he returned, he had one of the knives retrieved from the warehouse raid.  
  
"This, Lieutenant, is no ordinary knife," Goren began, as he carefully examined its hilt and blade. "It's made by a manufacturer in Michigan, an exclusive supplier to the U.S. Army."  
  
"That's what Detective Green noticed," van Buren nodded, "He said they were likely stolen."  
  
"There's more," Goren continued. "I noticed plenty of activity in the phone records between Luthor Corp. and Fort Hood, the largest Army base in the country. I didn't think much of it at first. The Luthors are major suppliers for the Pentagon. Which brings me back to the knives." He studied the hilt carefully.  
  
van Buren waited. "And?"  
  
"The knife is not standard issue for regular infantry ... but it IS standard equipment for U.S. Special Forces. Specifically, the U.S. Army Rangers. Considering that the mob intended to market these stolen weapons to criminal elements in the Colombian underworld - the cartels, right-wing paramilitaries, etc. - and the ease in which these gangsters had access to these weapons ..."  
  
"You're thinking that Luthor's been doing some freelance merchandising ... right under the noses of the Pentagon," van Buren added.  
  
"But Luthor needed someone on the 'inside'," Goren explained, "someone who had access, the ability to conceal the theft ..."  
  
"Goren thinks there must be an Army Ranger out there in Fort Hood collaborating with Luthor's people," Deakins stated. "If he's not actively involved in the theft, he may be providing information or contacts to Luthor."  
  
"He?" van Buren interrupted. "Or they?"  
  
"Maybe. If it's an enlisted soldier involved in the theft, the most that we can do is inform the Judge Advocate General of our suspicions," Deakins stated. "It's for the military police to pursue. Maybe we'll have the FBI make some inquiries around Capitol Hill."  
  
"Unless -," van Buren examined the knife. "- the perp is some AWOL, Rambo- type. A freelancer-for-hire."  
  
"You mean, like, the A-Team? Mercenaries?" Goren suggested.  
  
"Maybe," van Buren replied. "Except without Mr. T and the mohawk hair-do. Have these knives and weapons been checked by the CSU?"  
  
"They're running any prints against NYPD and federal databases," Goren answered. "We'll ask the JAG office in New York for their help on any AWOLs."  
  
"This is good stuff!" van Buren exclaimed. "The D.A. will love it ... if it pans out. And the connection to the Playstation game, Robert?"  
  
Goren grinned sheepishly. "That's SOCOM: Navy Seals. You see, you get to be part of this SEAL team. They give you a mission ... and you gotta take out the bad guys before they get you. I'm trying to get to the next level ...I just got into this gung-ho, GI Joe mood after all that research about the special forces. It's soo cool!"  
  
van Buren chuckled. "So you just decided to buy yourself a video game for inspiration?"  
  
Goren shook his head vigorously. "At $60 a pop? No way! Blockbuster rental. I gotta get to level three by Sunday."  
  
"Does he even do any work around here?" van Buren joked with Deakins.  
  
Deakins grinned. "Good job, Detective Goren."  
  
The sounds of loud explosions and gunfire echoed throughout the office. As Goren played the game, he smiled.  
  
Lionel Luthor hasn't given up his arms trading, he thought. Why should he? The fall of the Berlin Wall opened up many opportunities for soldiers of fortune - no longer bound by the rules of the Cold War.  
  
[Infirmary, Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Friday November 29]  
  
McCoy peered through the ward room window. "A bruised rib, eh? He'll live."  
  
"I'm moving to have Lex transferred to a medium-level institution," Goldstein argued. "This should be proof enough of the imminent danger to Lex's well-being."  
  
"Lex Luthor is charged with first-degree murder," McCoy declared. "He stays in Sing Sing until the trial. I don't care if he is friends with Mayor Bloomberg. I've talked to the warden. Lex will be assigned a guard 24/7. He should be safe."  
  
"You know what your problem is Jack?" Goldstein exclaimed. "Compromise isn't part of your vocabulary!"  
  
"What you call 'compromise', I call selling-out!" McCoy declared. "I don't pursue prosecutions based on polling data."  
  
Goldstein put on his trench coat. "You're playing a dangerous game, McCoy. If you keep stepping on toes in this town, someone's gonna turn right around and kick you in the ass. Look, I want to spare Lex further public humiliation. You, I'm sure, would prefer not to antagonize Luthor Corp. and their political allies. Let's deal. We'll settle for obstruction of justice. Lex does 200 hours of community service in Kansas, perhaps an anti- violence ad in New York for Bloomberg's anti-crime campaign ..."  
  
"And Lex comes out smelling like a rose, while Mrs. Saunders loses whatever shred of hope she has left for some justice?" McCoy glared at Goldstein. "There will be no deals. Monday morning, I'll put the New York justice system to the test. No amount of under-handed influence-peddling will convince me that Lex should get off with a slap on the wrist!"  
  
"Have some heart, Jack," Goldstein pleaded. "Do you hate Lionel Luthor so much that you're prepared to put his son behind bars for 25 to life?"  
  
McCoy paused. "It's murder! What makes you think I'll settle for life in prison?"  
  
"No!" Goldstein blocked McCoy's path. "You're not serious? The death penalty? Only one person has ever been sentenced to death since Governor Pataki reinstated capital punishment in '95. That case is still under consideration."  
  
"The statute was in place when Saunders had her life taken from her," McCoy remarked. "The state's murder rate has fallen by 40 per cent since Pataki reinstated the death penalty. I'll see you in court."  
  
Goldstein wanted to believe McCoy was just using the death penalty as leverage for an eventual out-of-court deal. But there was something in the prosecutor's voice. It was cold. Without compassion. He knew that Jack was a stubborn son-of-a-gun.  
  
But his voice had such determination. Purpose. If McCoy got the conviction he wanted - guilty on first-degree murder - he would make the case for capital punishment. In a post-9/11 city still reeling from the aftershock, the jury would surely make an example of Lex, (an alleged mid-west dilettante, according to the tabloids, with an ego almost as large as his trust fund.)  
  
Goldstein shuddered. Jack McCoy is on a self-appointed crusade to punish the Luthors. He would send them to hell and use that victory to jump to the Albany assembly. If the prosecution loses, the Luthors would surely destroy the careers of Jack's associates in the D.A.'s office and their collaborators in the NYPD. Jack wouldn't have time to pack his bags.  
  
That settles it. We have to win. Or lose everything. 


	10. CH 10

[Luthor Estate, Friday November 29]  
  
"I've submitted the latest numbers from your technology sector," Martha Kent browsed through a thick folder. "Europe, Asia, Latin America . they've all reported in."  
  
"Good. Thank you, Mrs. Kent," Lionel noted. Martha was about to leave when Lionel turned his chair.  
  
"I'm sure you are aware by now," Lionel began, "that my son has been accused of the murder of Chelsea Saunders."  
  
"I've heard," Martha replied. "I don't believe he's involved at all."  
  
"Unfortunately, now that he's in custody, who knows what sort of pressure tactics the investigators and the D.A.'s office are using," Lionel fretted. He fumbled on his desk and located a memo.  
  
"I believe this is what I'm looking for," he handed over the memo to Martha.  
  
"You want me to go to New York City?" Martha asked.  
  
"Due to my health, I am unable to be there in person," Lionel explained. "Which is why I need you to be my eyes and ears. I've informed Mr. Goldstein of your arrival. You'll be taking the corporate jet to JFK. You'll stay at the Hyatt Regency. I want to know everything that's going on. Everything, you understand?"  
  
"But this trial could go on for weeks! Or longer," Martha protested. "I have the farm to take care of, Clark ."  
  
"I understand the holiday season is upon us, but rest assured, you will be well compensated for your sacrifice. Anyhow, now that your son has somehow been subpoenaed for the trial ."  
  
"Clark's under subpoena?!" Martha gasped.  
  
"Oh, did I not mention that?" Lionel commented. "From the moment the trial begins, I want you in the courtroom. I'm not about to have that blowhard Jack McCoy eviscerate my corporation before the New York media!"  
  
"I'll be sure to check on Lex, too," Martha stated - just in case Lionel forgot about his son's welfare.  
  
"Oh yes. Do that," Lionel noted. "The jet leaves for New York 9 a.m. tomorrow. Don't be late."  
  
Martha drove away from the estate. Clark will have to testify. Under oath. What if they get too close ... and uncover his secret?  
  
[The Talon, Smallville, Friday November 29]  
  
"What's the news, Ms. Southerlyn?" Tutuola wondered. "Is Lionel gonna abide by the subpoena?"  
  
"He claimed that he was too ill to travel to New York," Southerlyn grumbled. "And he's prepared to oppose it in court."  
  
"So much for grilling Daddy Luthor on the stand," Munch added. "But we still have to take apart the hard drives of Kent and Sullivan. We'd better saddle up and blow this town."  
  
They heard an argument outside.  
  
"All I'm saying is, we don't have to take this lying down!" Chloe insisted. "I can still call my source at the ACLU. We can get the injunction and challenge the search warrant! If you're having doubts about surrendering your hard drive, we still have options!"  
  
"Look, my dad says that the best way I can help Lex is to cooperate," Clark explained. "Maybe I can prove that he's innocent ."  
  
"Or maybe I can call the Daily Planet?" Chloe offered.  
  
"No, Chloe! No ACLU, no Daily Planet, okay?! You do that, you'll give the D.A.'s office the impression we're covering up something about Lex."  
  
"Well, 'we're' not the ones covering up things," Chloe replied. "It's Luthor Corp that -"  
  
"Don't tell me - you think Lex is guilty too? I don't have time for this. My mom's coming back from work soon." Clark drove away, leaving Chloe in front of the Talon.  
  
Chloe slowly opened the door. Her mouth was in a permanent pout.  
  
"All's not well in the land of Oz?" Munch replied.  
  
Tutuola smacked his partner's shoulder in disapproval. "Just chill, John, alright? Come on, Sullivan, have a seat." Tutuola pulled over another chair. "Ms. Southerlyn will buy you a cup of coffee." Southerlyn didn't have much patience for teenage angst, but what could she do? They were all material witnesses to the unresolved issues between Clark and Chloe.  
  
"I'd rather have my laptop back!" Chloe blurted.  
  
"We're supposed to head over to Metropolis," Tutuola "but I'm not about to split leavin' you all down and blue. Now, what's the real problem?"  
  
"I was just trying to be helpful," Chloe explained. "He was feeling bad about giving up his computer. He thinks he's somehow betraying Lex. But like you said, the information could exonerate Lex of any wrongdoing. The moment I even suggest the Luthors are less-than-honest, he gives me the third degree!"  
  
Munch tapped his watch, but Tutuola held up a hand to keep him still. Southerlyn brought over Chloe's coffee.  
  
"Thanks," Chloe smiled meekly.  
  
Southerlyn sat beside Chloe. "You're good friends with Clark, aren't you?" Chloe nodded slightly.  
  
Tutuola grinned. "You like him, don't you?"  
  
Chloe coughed. "S-sure I like him. We're friends."  
  
"I don't think that's what the detective meant," Southerlyn replied.  
  
Chloe tried to appear disinterested. "Clark and I have common interests. We get along."  
  
"Uh-huh," Tutuola stood up. "So you're saying you only want to be friends with Clark Kent, hmm? You don't even like him just a little bit? Know what I think? You're flying wa-a-ay too low on his radar. Kent likes you, but he's afraid to admit it. You should just flat out ask him out."  
  
"What??" Chloe blurted.  
  
"Okay, enough teasing, Fin!" Southerlyn laughed. "I'm sure Chloe's got better things to do than to be cross-examined about her secret crush for Clark Kent!"  
  
"I do NOT have a crush on Clark Kent!" Chloe insisted, not noticing that her cheeks were flushed red.  
  
Southerlyn and the detectives began their drive to Metropolis.  
  
"You're all sadists. Both of you," Munch joked. "As if she was gonna confide in two old fuddy-duddys like yourselves."  
  
"Fuddy duddys?" Tutuola snickered. "You're the one who could pass as her old man."  
  
"Come on, John," Southerlyn replied. "I think it's sweet. Clark is like Archie - torn between the hometown girl-next-door and the sassy city girl."  
  
"Two women competing for his affections," Munch remarked. "Yeah, I truly feel bad for him ."  
  
[FBI field office, computer forensics lab, Metropolis, Friday November 29]  
  
Southerlyn walked into the lab. Munch and Tutuola were involved in a heated discussion.  
  
"The feds came up with something already?" Southerlyn inquired.  
  
"Still waiting," Tutuola replied. "We were wondering . if Chloe is Clark's Veronica, would that make Lana . Betty?"  
  
"Veronica's the one with oodles of money," Munch stated. "I think Chloe and Lana are both Bettys at heart."  
  
Southerlyn rolled her eyes. "I'm getting a salad. Lemme know when you hear something."  
  
A door opened. "Counsellor? Detectives? I'm Special Agent Ridge, FBI computer forensics," the agent introduced himself. "Sorry about the delay. Both Kent and Sullivan had up-to-date Internet security software. Once they deleted their email, the file became encrypted. It took awhile, but I think we were able to retrieve about 50% of their email over the past two weeks."  
  
"Excellent!" Southerlyn exclaimed. "We'll need to get a copy of that. How long before Kent and Sullivan can have their computers back?"  
  
"We're trying to restore some damaged files, break some encryption codes," the agent remarked. "We need until the end of next week. Maybe Thursday at the earliest?"  
  
Southerlyn studied the resurrected email. "This is good. Really good. Lex makes several references to 'clearing up an oversight' and 'righting some wrongs'. Not exactly a confession, but an indication he expected something to be done."  
  
"You think he already knew that Ms. Saunders was gonna snitch to the company ombudsman about the irregular chemical shipments?" Munch asked.  
  
"He must have," Southerlyn answered. "Why else would he have gone to Chelsea's condo?"  
  
Tutuola squinted at the computer monitor. "Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he was going to help Chelsea bring the irregularities to light?"  
  
"Unlikely," Southerlyn insisted. "If it turns out Luthor Corp. was selling chemicals to rogue states and dictators, it would force Capitol Hill to investigate. The Luthor empire would never survive the public scandal that would follow."  
  
"That may be true," Munch noted, "if Lex had a clear stake in Luthor Corp.'s success. But isn't he launching his own independent firm: LexCorp?"  
  
"Even if he is planning a corporate coup, I don't think he's quite prepared to bite the hand that feeds him right now." Southerlyn stated. "Hopefully, the email records and those affidavits will indicate just what Lex was thinking the night of the Saunders murder."  
  
"Well, I guess it's back to Smallville's fine cuisine," Munch groaned. "So what'll it be? McDonalds? Denny's? The Talon . yet again? Or do we upgrade to Ponderosa?"  
  
"You'll be having dinner without me," Southerlyn revealed. "McCoy wants me back Saturday morning to plan our trial strategy."  
  
"You mean we gotta stay here?" Tutuola demanded.  
  
"You're to escort Clark Kent to the Big Apple," Southerlyn replied. "He'll likely take the stand this week. I'm pretty sure Jack intends to challenge Lionel Luthor's motion to dismiss. We may need you to execute more warrants. McCoy will have Kent sequestered in a Manhattan hotel. No newspapers, radio or TV. He's to have no contact with Lex or his classmates until he's completed his testimony."  
  
"Wow, those are some rigid conditions!" Munch exclaimed. "McCoy's going on all cylinders! No wonder Lionel's got his boxers in a knot."  
  
"McCoy's determined to see this thing through," Southerlyn replied. "He wants a conviction - and to hell with the consequences."  
  
"Yeah, well, if he loses," Tutuola complained, "I'm afraid those 'consequences' involve Munch and I being hung out to dry like beef jerky."  
  
Special Agent Ridge returned. "I have a bunch of files that we just de- coded. Something about the 'Wall of Weird'?"  
  
"Oh, that's irrelevant," Southerlyn replied. "Those tales are local urban legends . that the green meteor is somehow related to mysterious deaths, inexplicable behaviour ."  
  
"Actually, agent," Munch interrupted, "I wouldn't mind a copy of those files. Personal research."  
  
The agent handed over the CD-ROM. "Knock yourself out detective."  
  
"John, you don't seriously believe those stories?" Southerlyn inquired. "I mean, come on, the Wall of Weird?"  
  
Munch gazed at the CD. "Fear of the unknown is no excuse, counsellor, for rejecting the possibility that some things just can't be explained by modern science."  
  
"Not with the alien conspiracy theories again," Tutuola groaned.  
  
[Office of D.A. Arthur Branch, New York City, Friday November 29]  
  
McCoy stormed into the room. "Arthur! Explain this!!" He tossed a copy of the New York Gazette onto Branch's desk. The Gazette recently joined the Big Apple newspaper wars. Majority owner: LuthorMedia, a division of Luthor Corp.  
  
Branch reviewed the headline: 'Stop Luthor harassment: NY senator'  
  
"Don't pursue this challenge to Lionel's motion to dismiss," Branch advised. "With his recent accident, no amount of legal jerry-rigging is going to drag him out of Kansas."  
  
"Why, Arthur?" McCoy demanded. "Because you're afraid of bad press from Lionel's New York rag?"  
  
"I got a call this afternoon," Branch stated. "Someone with the ear of the governor. He suggested that it wouldn't be a 'good idea' to further antagonize Lionel Luthor. Look, you have Lex in Sing Sing and your murder trial. Yanking an invalid Lionel out of his sick bed won't help your cause."  
  
"Why are you protecting Luthor?" McCoy exclaimed. "Do you owe him that much that you're prepared to jeopardize a murder trial?"  
  
Branch stood up. "I got to this office on my record! I have provided New Yorkers with a strong hand in their darkest hour! They wanted a D.A. who's tough on criminals: I gave them solid convictions, greater police powers and a sense of order in their city. Luthor contributed some funds to my election campaign. That's the extent of his impact on my job."  
  
"Well, I wish I could believe that, Arthur, I really do," McCoy grumbled. He looked outside onto the Manhattan skyline. Pedestrians shivered in the chilly November air, oblivious to the impending political turf war that would surely tear the city apart. Luthor could muster loyalists at every level of government. Sirens wailed in the distance.  
  
A warning of trouble ahead.  
  
"It's not Luthor I'm protecting, Jack," Branch insisted. "It's you. Your career. And, to be frank, my own! If you want Lex to answer for his alleged crimes, that's all well and good - if you have the evidence. I pray that you do. Just be prepared for the fallout if you lose."  
  
"I know the risks," McCoy insisted. He glared at the Gazette. "And I won't let Luthor's publicity machine intimidate me! If you will excuse me, I have a murder trial to prepare for."  
  
"Jack," Branch said as he reviewed the Gazette's lead story. "Don't tempt fate."  
  
McCoy slammed the office door. Don't tempt fate, he sneered to himself. If I lose, Branch will offer me up as the fall guy. Me - and those associated with the case: Southerlyn, Briscoe, Green, Van Buren, the SVU detectives. All of them.  
  
In the elevator, he felt isolated. Alone.  
  
My god, he thought to himself, the trial begins on Monday ...  
  
*****  
  
NOTE: Okay, there are plenty of detectives and lawyers running around. Since this is CH 10, I'll make things simpler for those who need a refresher, or aren't too familiar with the Law and Order universe:  
  
Homicide Lt. Anita Van Buren, commanding officer Det. Lennie Briscoe (the grizzled veteran) Det. Ed Green (impulsive younger partner)  
  
Special Victims Unit Captain Donald Cragen, commanding officer Det. John Munch (cynical investigator/part-time conspiracy theorist) Det. Fin Tutuola (street-wise ex-narcotics cop) Det. Olivia Benson (tough, but fair) Det. Elliot Stabler (family man, the stress of SVU work beginning to catch up with him)  
  
Major Case Squad Captain James Deakins, commanding officer Det. Robert Goren (meticulous, extremely intelligent) Det. Alexandra Eames (more independent, sometimes has to rein in )  
  
D.A.'s office Arthur Branch, District Attorney - elected on a tough justice platform, riding the crest of New York's post 9-11 insecurities, must balance quest for justice with political realities Executive District Attorney Jack McCoy - prosecutes major homicide cases (including the Luthor trial), no stranger to stepping on political toes Assistant D.A. Serena Southerlyn - McCoy's primary junior assistant, does most of the pre-trial work and preliminary evidence gathering, warrants, subpoenas Assistant D.A. Alexandra Cabot - responsible for SVU cases D.A. Ron Carver - responsible for Major Cases  
  
Defense Richard Goldstein, Lex's defense attorney, appointed by his father  
  
Capital punishment in New York state  
  
For the record, first-degree murder/murder one qualifies as a capital offense in New York state, especially if there is proof that the intent for the murder is a felony (i.e. committed to cover up another crime -- and not merely a crime of passion)  
  
N.Y. Governor Pataki has lifted the state's past moratorium on the death penalty, although no one has been executed (yet) during his administration. 


	11. CH 11

[Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, NY, Sunday December 1]  
  
A loud buzzer echoed through the hall. The correctional officer yanked open the bar door. Across the hall, a pair of prisoners noticed Mrs. Kent and whistled. The guards quickly hustled them back to their cells.  
  
"They get excited at anything with a skirt," the officer remarked. "Luthor's at window No. 3."  
  
Lex's face brightened at the sight of a familiar face. "Mrs. Kent?"  
  
Martha waved from behind the Plexiglas window and picked up the phone receiver. "I just had to check up on you. We haven't heard anything from you since you were arrested!"  
  
"You can thank the New York District Attorney's office for my stringent conditions. Solitary confinement." He winced in pain. "Not to mention that I was kicked in the stomach by some nutcase with something against Luthor Corp."  
  
"Are you alright?" Martha asked.  
  
"I'll live," Lex replied. "Anyway, I won't be in this fine establishment for long. I'll be moving shortly to the hospitality of Riker's Island for the duration of the trial. Is that why you're here in New York?"  
  
Martha nodded. "I'm supposed to provide your legal team with any assistance . and keep your father informed of the trial developments."  
  
"Ahh, yes. My father has much at stake in this trial," Lex grumbled. "It's the Luthor name on trial. A conviction would drag down the value of Luthor Corp.'s stock. and alienate political allies in the Empire State."  
  
"There's something else," Martha added. "Clark is under subpoena to testify as a witness."  
  
Lex rubbed his face slowly in disbelief. He did not want his friend involved in this farce. He struggled to insulate the Kents from the political intrigues of his father. But D.A. McCoy lived up to his reputation as a relentless prosecutor.  
  
I failed, he muttered to himself. Clark was the only person in Smallville who gave me his friendship with no strings attached. Now Clark is being forced to test his faith in me. Again.  
  
Too many uncertainties, Lex feared. I can't afford to lose the only true friend I have now.  
  
"I'm sorry Clark had to be dragged into this," Lex stated. "Is he already in New York?"  
  
"No," Martha answered. "He won't be called to testify until later."  
  
Lex could see that Mrs. Kent was genuinely worried. Clark was lucky to have such caring and devoted parents.  
  
"Don't let the trial bother you, Mrs. Kent," Lex insisted. "Mark my words: I'll be home for Christmas."  
  
"I'm sure we all will!" Martha agreed. "I know you had nothing to do with that poor girl's death."  
  
A loud buzzer announced the arrival of the correctional officer. "Mrs. Kent? Time's up."  
  
"Clark sends his regards," Martha said. "Did you know he wanted to reject the subpoena?"  
  
"I hope he had the sense to comply," Lex joked, "Riker's is crowded enough as it is. Thank you for coming by to visit, Mrs. Kent. It . means a lot to me."  
  
"I'll see you at the trial, Lex." Martha hung up the phone and walked down the corridor.  
  
Lex's guard walked towards him. "Just in time for lunch, Lex." He re- attached Lex's handcuffs.  
  
"Oh great," Lex groaned. "Coagulated gravy and Salisbury steak again?"  
  
He shuffled back to his cell for another meal. Alone.  
  
[The Talon, Smallville, Sunday, December 1]  
  
Pete entered The Talon and noticed Chloe sprawled on one of the couches. Scattered on the table and couch were half a dozen newspapers.  
  
"Nice mess, Chloe!" Pete kidded. "Ever heard of recycling!" He shoved aside some papers and sat down.  
  
"All the papers are covering the Luthor trial," Chloe replied. "The Daily Planet, Gotham Times, Smallville Ledger, Leesburg Free Press, Fawcett City Record . even the Inquisitor!"  
  
"I think I'll just stick to Headline News for my daily dish on the 'trial of the century'," Pete picked up a loose paper from the ground, "and do my part to save a few more trees!"  
  
Detectives Munch and Tutuola opened the door.  
  
"Dum, da dum dum . dum da dum dum dummm", Chloe muttered the Dragnet theme. Pete snickered.  
  
Munch nudged his partner's arm. "Oh look, Fin ... it's the friendly neighbourhood press hacks. I picked up The Torch on Friday afternoon, Ms. Sullivan. Thanks for the front page coverage, by the way."  
  
He flashed the first page: 'NYPD seizes Torch files for Luthor case'  
  
"Just be glad she didn't print your less-than-positive remarks about the Kansas A.-G.," Tutuola added.  
  
"So, you didn't accompany D.A. Southerlyn back to NYC," Chloe noted, "why is that?"  
  
"Off the record?" Munch demanded. He lifted a paper from the table and clicked off a mini-tape recorder. He waved his finger disapprovingly. "That's a no-no, Miss Sullivan. Cops are allowed to entrap people. Not the other way around."  
  
"Our boss wants people here on the ground, for now," Tutuola replied.  
  
"Southerlyn's got some work to do before trial day on Monday," Munch added. "Luthor the Younger has been enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of Sing Sing since his arraignment."  
  
Chloe wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't even think I'd want a mental picture of that!"  
  
Lana brought a tray with two drinks. "Hot chocolate for you, Detective Tutuola . and coffee - black - for Detective Munch."  
  
"Let's go, John," Tutuola sipped his drink, "Cragen wants an update tonight."  
  
Munch glanced at the papers strewn on the table. "With all the ink dedicated to the Luthor trial, you'd think there wasn't an impending war on Iraq. Oh, and for the record, our little visit to the Torch wasn't quite as newsworthy as the Crows' upset victory on Friday over the Leesburg Cougars. Considering their quarterback is being scouted by the Sharks, that's front page material."  
  
"Lucky for you, YOU didn't have to make that editorial call," Chloe remarked. "We went to press before the winning touchdown."  
  
As Munch and Tutuola exited the Torch, they noticed Clark leaving the hardware store. Clark tried to avoid their gaze, but it was too late.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Clark," Munch hollered. Clark had a handful of supplies in his arms.  
  
"We're the good guys, Clark," Tutuola insisted, "You're not the one in trouble."  
  
"Yeah? Well it sure feels that way!" Clark declared. "My friend's rotting in some New York prison on Murder One. My friends have to give sworn statements. I'm being forced to testify. How else am I supposed to see it?"  
  
"You know, Kent, this is what I don't get," Munch replied. "I've read some back issues of the Ledger. Luthor Corp. has done nothing but evade, cover up, destroy, or ignore problems right here on their own turf! Lex may not hold the reins of the family business just yet, but don't you think he's been trained to put his interests ahead of others?"  
  
"Lex is not like that," Clark insisted. "He's just misunderstood, that's all! He's done a lot for this community, for Metropolis ."  
  
"Yeah, with strings attached," Munch snickered.  
  
"You don't understand," Clark grumbled. "Believe what you want, Detective Munch. I'll say what I have to say in court. Lex will be proved innocent. You'll see. Excuse me, I've got work to do on the farm." He brushed past the detectives.  
  
Tutuola shook his head. "You really know how to piss people off, John. It's like an art with you."  
  
"Maybe so," Munch replied, "but there's something rotten in this town. And it's not the cow pies."  
  
[Homicide Squad, One Police Plaza, New York City, Monday, December 2, 10 a.m.]  
  
Green chomped on a croissant and sat down in front of Lt. Van Buren's desk. Briscoe finished chewing on his bagel and sipped his coffee.  
  
"You had some news from the Major Case Squad?" Green inquired.  
  
Van Buren pushed a file towards them. "Have a look. You know that Grundini case you helped with?"  
  
Briscoe nodded. "Yeah, yeah, we pinch-hit on that mob raid. The cache of weapons. The place looked like an NRA yard sale!"  
  
"We had the CSU go over the weapons. They had begun to file off the serial numbers, so they couldn't be traced. Good thing the MCS hit the place. Detective Goren was working on the phone records, and came up with a lot of calls to Metropolis."  
  
"A Luthor Corp. connection!" Briscoe beamed.  
  
Van Buren paced around. "We'll see, Lennie. I'm waiting on a call from the JAG office in Texas. Maybe an AWOL soldier's been moonlighting. The stolen weapons were from Fort Hood. And here's the kicker. One of those army knives had blood on it. Chelsea Saunders' blood!"  
  
Briscoe and Green looked stunned. "So we have Lex's motive, then," Green speculated. "Saunders was gonna blow the whistle and Junior did her in - or had her iced -- to stop that from happening."  
  
"Go to interrogation room 2. Detective Eames is grilling Grundini now," Van Buren sat down. "See what's going on."  
  
"Well, Ed, it's back into the trenches for us!" Briscoe remarked.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," Green replied. He skimmed through the file. It didn't make sense. The mob is usually meticulous about destroying evidence related to their professional hits. No fingerprints. No witnesses. To leave a murder weapon lying around a warehouse seemed, well, careless.  
  
Sloppy. Even for a slime-bag like Louie Grundini.  
  
Grundini was a known hitman. Then why would Lex do the messy deed himself - if he could have just enlisted a professional to do it? That was the problem. Grundini was nowhere near Saunders' condo. As far as they knew.  
  
Lex was. The videotape proved it.  
  
"What a mess," Green muttered to himself.  
  
"You're telling me!" Briscoe replied. "I got blueberry jam all over my sleeve!"  
  
Green laughed. "I was talking to myself, Lennie."  
  
"Ya know, they have shrinks for that sorta problem," Briscoe deadpanned.  
  
[Supreme Court, Trial Part 3, Monday December 2]  
  
"Please state your name and occupation for the record," McCoy asked the witness.  
  
A middle-aged South Asian leaned towards the microphone. "Mohammed Aziz. I'm a driver for Detour Taxi Company."  
  
McCoy examined a scheduling sheet. "Your dispatcher's records indicate that you had just dropped off a fare that night in Manhattan, is that correct?"  
  
"Yes," Aziz replied. "Broadway. A couple going to see 'The Producers'." McCoy continued. "The dispatcher then received a call at 6:35 p.m. A pick- up at Luthor Corp.'s Wall Street offices?"  
  
Aziz leaned towards the microphone again. "Yes, that's correct, sir."  
  
McCoy paced, then stopped beside the prosecution's table. "You arrived at Luthor Corp.'s offices. Did your boss say who would be waiting at the main doorway?"  
  
Aziz glanced nervously towards the defendant's table. "My dispatcher told me that I was to pick up Lex Luthor."  
  
McCoy strolled towards the witness stand. "Mr. Aziz, is the person you picked up that night in this room today?"  
  
"Yes." Aziz stated.  
  
"Please point to this person," McCoy said. Aziz pointed towards the defendant's table. At Lex Luthor.  
  
"Let the record show that the witness identified the defendant, Lex Luthor, as his fare," McCoy declared. "And where did you take Mr. Luthor, sir?"  
  
"I drove him to Versailles Condominiums," Aziz replied.  
  
"... where Chelsea Saunders would later be found dead," McCoy added.  
  
Richard Goldstein, Lex's attorney, shook his head in protest. "Your Honour, the people are drawing conclusions for the jury!"  
  
"Withdrawn," McCoy smirked as he sat down.  
  
Goldstein immediately stood up. "Mr. Aziz, is Lex Luthor the only bald fare you've ever picked up in New York City?"  
  
"Relevance, Your Honour?" McCoy barked.  
  
"Let me rephrase," Goldstein grinned. "Mr. Aziz, how many hours do you work a day?"  
  
"12 to 14 hours," the taxi driver replied. "I have to support my family."  
  
"And during this 12- to 14-hour workday," Goldstein paced across the floor, "could you remember the name of every single fare you picked up?"  
  
"That's a lot of people," Aziz smiled.  
  
"And on that night, how many fares did you drive around?" Goldstein asked. "Probably around 20 to 25," Aziz answered.  
  
"Probably?" Goldstein paused.  
  
"Your Honour, the people will concede that Mr. Aziz won't remember the face of the hundreds of fares he picks up over the course of a week," McCoy growled impatiently.  
  
"Mr. Aziz," Goldstein continued, "Can you name all the fares you picked up that night?"  
  
"No, I -" Aziz blurted.  
  
"Then how can you be sure that the man you picked up at 6:40 p.m. was Lex Luthor?" Goldstein demanded. "Your dispatcher may have told you that you were picking up Lex Luthor, but you might have just picked up some guy with male-pattern baldness!"  
  
"Do you take me for a fool?!" Aziz exclaimed. "I read the papers and watch the news. I know who I picked up!" He pointed towards Lex. "That man is Lex Luthor, is he not?! That was the man I drove to Versailles Condos."  
  
"No further questions, Your Honour," Goldstein sighed.  
  
Lex leaned towards his team of attorneys. "Is that the basis of my defense?" he whispered angrily. "Male-pattern baldness? My father's not paying you $600/hr to practise bush-league law! I'm charged with Murder One - a capital offence!"  
  
"I was merely challenging the jury to consider the testimony's validity," Goldstein insisted, "It's just a bump in the road. Don't sweat it, Lex."  
  
McCoy conferred with Southerlyn. Mr. Aziz had identified Lex as the man he drove to Park Avenue. That's all they wanted to achieve this morning: to establish that Lex Luthor was at Versailles Condominiums by 6:45 p.m. Ample time for him to commit murder by 7 p.m.  
  
Both the prosecution and defense questioned the taxi dispatcher, Mr. Adrian Solensky. McCoy had the dispatcher confirm that Luthor Corp. called for a cab. Goldstein tried to suggest that Mr. Solensky, too, was over-worked and perhaps did not send a cab to Wall Street. Unfortunately for the defense, Mr. Solensky kept meticulous - and computerized - records.  
  
Ergo, reducing the chances of human error, Goldstein grumbled. Round 1 to D.A. McCoy.  
  
Judge Fitzwater's gavel announced the lunch recess. Proceedings to resume at 1 p.m. sharp.  
  
A horde of reporters greeted Lex and his attorneys. "Any thoughts on this morning's proceedings, Mr. Luthor?" one TV reporter asked.  
  
"I've been advised not to elaborate on anything in the trial so far," Lex replied. "But I will say this. I am innocent."  
  
Goldstein basked in the media spotlight. "The prosecution is building their case on coincidences, shoddy police work and Houdini trial tricks! Only one thing is certain: Lex will be exonerated. You won't want to miss this afternoon. It'll be quite the show!"  
  
McCoy and Southerlyn peered at the cameras and reporters huddled around Goldstein.  
  
"What a peacock!" McCoy scowled. "Richard is toying with the media to spin doctor his less-than-admirable performance at trial!"  
  
Southerlyn paused. "As if you never used the media as a soapbox, Jack!"  
  
McCoy laughed. "That's the difference between the prosecution and defense. When I speak to the media, I'm speaking to the people whose rights I'm protecting. When Goldstein struts before the cameras, he's playing to the only crowd that matters to him ..."  
  
"Wall Street tycoons?" Southerlyn guessed.  
  
"Well, them too," McCoy replied. "I was going to say Luthor Corp.'s ruling oligarchy. Daddy Luthor and his courtiers, after all, are footing Lex's legal bill." 


	12. CH 12

A Law and Order-Smallville crossover. The events and persons in this tale are fictional. Similarities to actual events or persons are coincidental.  
  
[Interrogation Room 2, One Police Plaza, NYC, Monday December 2]  
  
"You're not helping yourself, Mr. Grundini," Detective Eames grumbled. "Your underworld bosses may like this whole 'code of silence' routine. The D.A. won't appreciate it."  
  
"I'm tellin' ya the truth, detective," Grundini insisted. "I swear I had no idea those boxes had weapons in them!"  
  
A loud knock on the door. "Detective Eames?" It was Captain Deakins.  
  
Eames sighed as she stepped out. "He's sticking to his story. He says he was clueless about the arms shipments. He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer: he still hasn't asked for a lawyer."  
  
Briscoe grinned. "Can't blame him for keeping his mouth shut. He'd be a marked man if he ratted on his mob buddies."  
  
"So how are we gonna handle this, Lennie?" Green asked. "I'll be the good cop, you'll be the bad one?"  
  
"Nah," Briscoe replied. "You can be the hard ass this time."  
  
Green burst into the room. "Louie Grundini, stand up! You're under arrest for murder!"  
  
"What the f--?" Grundini barked. "What the hell is this about? I don't know nothin'!"  
  
Green held up an evidence bag. "You know that broad who was iced on Park Avenue a week ago? The blood on this knife matches hers! And the knife just happened to be in that warehouse."  
  
"So?" Grundini protested. "Lucky coincidence! I don't know nothin' about her. You guys already got that guy - Lex Luthor. He's the one who did it!"  
  
"Maybe he ordered the hit," Green suggested. "He's a self-made man. Why should he get his hands dirty ... when he can get a lowlife like you to get his hands dirty. And take the fall!"  
  
"Where do you come up with this crap?" Grundini exclaimed.  
  
"I dunno, Louie," Green replied, "The way I see it ... you're an ex-mob enforcer from Atlantic City. You're running guns to South America. The Luthors greased some wheels to do some freelance arms dealing. Lex needs another favour ... you think to yourself 'what the hell, you've snuffed out people before: one more dead girl's no sweat off your back!!"  
  
"No!" Grundini insisted. "I was only at the warehouse to see that the stuff got there. How was I to know that the Atlantic City boys were running guns to the Colombians?"  
  
Green shoved Grundini against the wall. "You're lying! Lex called the hit 'cause Chelsea was gonna squeal. You slit her throat and thought you could ship off the murder weapon down to Bogota. End of story, no more murder weapon!"  
  
Briscoe turned to Captain Deakins. "Time for me to turn down the heat." He pulled Green from Grundini.  
  
"Ed, just take it easy! Cool it!"  
  
Green pushed Grundini aside. "I know you're lying, Louie!"  
  
Briscoe adjusted Grundini's blazer. "You'll have to excuse my partner. He's a little hot under the collar."  
  
Grundini adjusted his silk tie. "That guy's nuts! You guys should keep that lunatic at a desk, or something!"  
  
"Our pals on the Major Case squad have gone over your phone records and those of your associates," Briscoe revealed, "We know all about how you're fencing stolen US Army goods, arms, equipment to the cartels in Colombia. We know that you have a contact in Metropolis. My guess is it's Lionel Luthor, or one of his cronies. Now, explain to me how the Saunders' murder weapon happened to be in your possession?"  
  
"I can't," Grundini insisted.  
  
"You can't?" Briscoe wondered. "Or you won't?"  
  
"I can't," Grundini pleaded. "If I tell you anything, I end up with concrete shoes at the bottom of the Hudson River!"  
  
"So what you're saying is, you don't want your mob pals to find out you spilled the beans," Briscoe stated. "We can help you with that: witness protection, whatever."  
  
"No, what I'm saying ..." Grundini began, "... is that I'm sayin' nothing till I get a lawyer."  
  
Outside, Green frowned at the captain and Eames. "Well, whaddya know - Louie's not as stupid as he looks."  
  
Briscoe stepped outside. "So much for killing two birds with one stone ..."  
  
[Smallville, Monday December 2]  
  
Smoke steamed from under the hood of the detectives' rental car.  
  
Tutuola glanced at the dashboard. "Check gauges? Munch, did you check all those fluids ...?!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, washer fluid, gas, coolant, the whole toxic mixture," Munch replied. He covered his mouth as he tried to open the hood. "Ouch!"  
  
Tutuola slammed the door in frustration. "Great, the engine's overheated!"  
  
"So we're stuck in the middle of Hickville!" Munch grumbled. "I can't wait to get back to the Big Apple!"  
  
Tutuola waved away the smoke from his face. "Well, I'm sure the rats miss you too, John."  
  
A truck pulled up. "Car trouble, eh?" It was Jonathan Kent.  
  
Munch coughed again. "Looks like we got stuck with a lemon of a rental car. Compliments of Breezy Rentals."  
  
"Lemme see if I can get the AAA or something," Tutuola replied, then fumbled in his pockets for some quarters.  
  
Jonathan coughed as a wall of steam emerged from the hood. He peeked under the car.  
  
"There's your trouble, Detective Munch," he pointed at the pool of liquid on the pavement, "Your coolant is leaking. Lemme see what I can do."  
  
"We don't want to be a bother, Mr. Kent," Munch insisted, "We'll just wait for the AAA guys to come by ... NYPD will foot the bill, no problemo."  
  
Tutuola returned. "There's a pile-up at the interstate. AAA can't be here for another hour, maybe two."  
  
Jonathan pulled out a toolbox, then crawled under the car.  
  
"I realize we've been rubbing people the wrong way," Munch offered, "It's just that our superiors consider this case a priority. There are political forces at work that are impeding our investigation at all levels."  
  
Jonathan wriggled from underneath the car. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."  
  
"About the investigation?" Munch inquired.  
  
Jonathan grinned. "No, about the coolant leak." He wiped his brow. "So Lionel Luthor's throwing roadblocks up, is he? That's not really news around these parts. He has politicians and big business in his pocket. Rumour has it that he has the favour of the governor's office."  
  
"I take it there's no love lost between you and Luthor Corp." Tutuola remarked.  
  
Jonathan squinted at the Kansas sunset. "You could say that." He grabbed a pristine white cloth, then tried to wipe the grease from his hands. Without much luck.  
  
"You're probably gonna need one of those industrial cleansers," Tutuola suggested.  
  
Jonathan studied his hands. The dirt would not come off easily.  
  
He wasn't thinking about the car grease.  
  
Long ago, he had made a Faustian deal with Lionel Luthor to "streamline" his adoption of Clark. He opened the door for Luthor Corp. in Smallville. That was the price he had paid.  
  
That he continues to pay - as his only son is now under subpoena to explain circumstances that may or may not have led to Lex Luthor's brutal murder of Chelsea Saunders.  
  
He wanted to accept Clark's faith in Lex's goodness. That - somehow - Lex had the moral clarity that Lionel lacked. He could not.  
  
Alexander Joseph Luthor - despite his charismatic protests - is his father's son. Would he resort to murder to defend the family empire?  
  
No court in America could deny what that answer must be: Yes.  
  
"When your hands get this dirty," Jonathan noted, "you really do need more than soap and water to clean it off."  
  
He started his truck. "I'll give you a lift to your hotel, detectives."  
  
"Thanks, Mr. Kent," Tutuola beamed.  
  
"When you do take Clark to New York," Jonathan began, "... would you ... keep an eye on him? Him and my wife."  
  
"Sure thing, Mr. Kent!" Munch declared. "Clark's a good kid, despite the fact he's got an alleged murderer on his speed dial. Mrs. Kent is in New York now, isn't she? On Lionel's payroll?"  
  
"Yes." Jonathan grumbled.  
  
"And that doesn't sit well with you," Tutuola stated.  
  
"You have no idea, detectives," Jonathan nodded, as he accelerated out of the sleepy town.  
  
[Special Victims Unit, One Police Plaza, Monday December 2]  
  
Detective Elliot Stabler skimmed through the New York Gazette. 'LUTHOR HEIR REJECTS STATE'S 'UNJUST' ALLEGATIONS'  
  
Must be nice for Lex's old man to have a Big Apple rag in his corner, he mumbled to himself. He can portray his son - and his corporation - as innocent of all wrongdoing. Few accused have such influence in the media.  
  
A rookie cop accidentally stepped on Stabler's shoe.  
  
"Hey! Watch it!" Stabler snapped.  
  
"Sorry about that, detective," the cop apologized.  
  
Stabler unfurled the paper again. "Why don't you make yourself useful, son, and go write up a couple a parking tickets."  
  
"Hey, I bust my hump as hard as you do," the cop rebutted.  
  
Stabler stood up and glared at the young cop, who couldn't possibly be over 25. "Is that so?!"  
  
Detective Benson noticed the confrontation and intervened. "Uhh, Mike, why don't you get that evidence down to the CSU ..." The junior officer quickly took the opportunity to escape Stabler's icy gaze.  
  
"Elliot, what was all that about?" she inquired.  
  
Stabler pinched his forehead. The headache throbbed since this morning. "It's nothing, Olivia."  
  
"Nothing?" Benson demanded. "You've been impatient with witnesses, short- tempered with colleagues ... You've been edgy all week. Something's up!"  
  
Stabler made himself a cup of coffee. He sipped. Lukewarm. "Is it so hard to make a new pot?" he hollered within earshot of everyone.  
  
"I'm just under a lot of pressure recently - that's all," he grumbled.  
  
"Are things tense at home?" Benson asked. "Look, why don't you talk to Cragen. Maybe he'll get you a day or two off. You've been working 14-hour days for awhile now ... you can go home, catch a movie, take your wife out for dinner ..."  
  
Stabler turned on the coffee machine, still grumbling about the nameless ingrate who didn't have the courtesy to brew a new pot. "I'm fine, Olivia. Just fine. I just need some coffee." He checked the carton of cream.  
  
"Great! No frickin' cream!" Stabler put on his jacket. "I'm going to get a decent cup of coffee." He shoved the door open and left before Benson could ask more questions.  
  
Captain Cragen marched towards Benson. "What's up his ass?"  
  
"He says he's under pressure," Benson replied.  
  
"Under pressure?" Cragen scoffed. "I've got Fin and John stranded in Smallville with no wheels 'cause the rental company gave 'em a dud! I got D.A. McCoy determined to jab a lethal injection in the arm of the Lionel Luthor's heir. I've got a perverted politician on the verge of getting his case tossed out. Guess who becomes public enemy #1 if those cases fall through? It's me, it's Lt. Van Buren at Homicide, it's Captain Deakins at the MCS! You can bet that the mayor's office won't lift a finger."  
  
"I realize that," Benson replied.  
  
"Well, good," Cragen stated. "I don't think your partner does. Where is Elliot going?"  
  
"Getting a coffee," Benson nodded towards the exit.  
  
"Now's not the time for him to have a mid-life crisis," Cragen insisted, "If Stabler can't focus on the task at hand, I'd rather have him benched. I want him in my office. Now!"  
  
Benson put on her jacket. The investigation of New York state representative Connors will have to wait.  
  
She had to save her partner's career first ... 


	13. CH 13

[SVU, One Police Plaza, Manhattan, Monday, December 2]  
  
Detective Stabler opened the door to Cragen's office - cup of coffee in hand.  
  
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" he mumbled between sips.  
  
"How are things going with you?" Cragen asked.  
  
Stabler hesitated. He knew what the captain was alluding to. "I realize Detective Benson has some concerns about how I'm coping with the investigation, the long hours. I'm fine."  
  
"Look, I know how things seem out of whack now - with the Connors investigations, now the Luthor mess. Once Munch and Tutuola come back from Smallville, we won't be short of hands."  
  
He paused. Stabler was a good cop. With a young family. He had logged so much overtime over the past month and a half. Cragen had seen good cops hit the breaking point before, where their judgment and sense became clouded. Even unreliable. Was Elliot really on the brink?  
  
"With all your overtime ..." Cragen began, "I think you should, maybe, take a day or two off. You've earned it. Live in the real world. Spend time with your daughter ... your family."  
  
Stabler slurped the final drops of coffee. "I told you, I'm fine. I'm just a little on edge, that's all. We can't let up on Connors. Or Lex Luthor, for that matter. I'm not gonna let a bad day get in the way of my work."  
  
Cragen closed the blinds of his office. "Elliot, I've been a cop long enough to know that, when you have a family, you feel you have to wear different hats." He glanced at the photos on his wall. From his police academy days, press clippings of successful arrests. Funeral marches for fallen officers. This job - to be an NYPD officer - was about making sacrifices.  
  
And the strains of the job were slowing eating away at one of his finest officers.  
  
Cragen continued. "You feel you have to be 'one of the boys' at the precinct, a devoted father to your kids, a supportive husband to your wife. I know you wanna be 'the man' for all occasions. This job doesn't make it easy. If you'd like to talk to someone, I could put in a confidential call to Dr. Olivet. This would only be between you and me. Nothing you talk about leaves this office."  
  
Stabler adjusted the suspenders on his shoulders. "I don't need a shrink to crawl into my head. It's just stress, okay? And you know I make a point of keeping my homelife out of the office. Private. I'm asking you not to pull me off the investigation. I've hit rough patches before - and I've got through them. I appreciate your concern, but I'm ... alright."  
  
As he opened the door, Cragen interrupted. "Olivia's watching your back, detective. You just make sure you watch hers."  
  
Cragen walked over to the wall of photos again. He hoped that letting Stabler walk out that door and remain on active duty wasn't a mistake.  
  
[Supreme Court, Manhattan, NYC, 12:50 p.m.]  
  
Assistant D.A. Serena Southerlyn sipped her orange juice, listening intently as Jack continued on his lunch hour tirade about the increasing politicization of the D.A.'s office since 9/11.  
  
"Hell, I don't even know how many players have their fingers in Arthur's honey jar anymore!" Jack quipped.  
  
"I wouldn't be so quick to discredit those players, Jack!" Serena replied. "Some of those fingers belong to people you would also call friends. Friends who could be quite useful to you - should you make a run for Branch's job one day."  
  
Jack puzzled expression and feigned protests proved that her verbal barb had hit its mark. Jack McCoy was a tough competitor. And ambitious. Jack detested the way politicians flaunted the trappings of power. But he also possessed the idealism that usually drives private citizens to seek public office. That need to make a difference was likely born out of the civil activism of McCoy's generation: the anti-war boomers. Convicting Lex Luthor would no doubt be a fine feather in his already flourishing legal cap.  
  
It could also be a springboard to something much larger. If Jack dared to imagine that possibility.  
  
As they turned the corner, they walked into Martha Kent. No longer in Smallville-chic jeans and casual top, Mrs. Kent was dressed in a sharp charcoal grey pantsuit. She held a bundle of files and folders in her arms.  
  
"Mrs. Kent? I didn't expect to see you in New York so soon?" Serena wondered. "Clark's not expected to testify until later."  
  
"As you know, I'm working for Lionel Luthor," Martha replied. "I'm here to provide administrative help for Lex's legal team for the duration of the trial."  
  
"I hope Lionel's footing the bill for you, Mrs. Kent," Jack stated. "Luthor Corp.'s pockets are certainly deep enough."  
  
"Mr. Luthor has been kind enough to provide me with a hotel room, salary and expenses," Martha answered. She checked the clock above the courtroom entrance. "Oops! I've got to get these files to Mr. Goldstein before the deliberations continue. Bye!"  
  
"Martha Kent, the quintessential midwestern working mother ... in the employ of the insufferable Lionel Luthor? It's Norman Rockwell-meets- Machiavelli! I hope she knows what's she's in for."  
  
"She's a good person, Jack," Southerlyn insisted. "She went to college in Metropolis. Just because the closest you've ever gotten to farm life is the grocery vegetable aisle ... doesn't mean you can label her a clueless hick being blindly led on a fool's errand by city slicker Lionel! New York isn't the centre of the civilized world, you know ..."  
  
"Perhaps your time in Smallville has tilted your judgment, counsellor?" Jack grinned. Only not entirely in jest.  
  
As the afternoon session continued, McCoy called Luthor Corp.'s V.P. of operations, Dan Gonzalves. Mr. Gonzalves was visibly uncomfortable, constantly tugging at the collar of his dress shirt.  
  
Not surprising, since the boss' son was mere feet from him.  
  
"Mr. Gonzalves, please explain to us the purpose of Suite 3015 in Versailles Luxury Condominiums, Park Avenue?" McCoy inquired.  
  
"Luthor Corp., as you know," Gonzalves began, "has employees around the globe. Sometimes, they may need to spend a weekend in the Big Apple for a critical project."  
  
"Is it not true, Mr. Gonzalves, that employees may even stay weeks, or longer ... depending on the project," McCoy continued, "as was the case with Ms. Chelsea Saunders."  
  
"Yes." Gonzalves gulped.  
  
"Chelsea Saunders was a junior public relations assistant in Luthor Corp.'s Marketing Department, correct?" McCoy asked.  
  
"Ummm, yes she was," Gonzalves replied. "Actually, it was her first 'big break' on Wall Street. Before the Corp., she had worked in a part-time capacity for some dot-com startup. She was a hard worker."  
  
"And she stayed at Versailles ... since September?" McCoy raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, she stayed there since September," Gonzalves answered. "One could say it was a no-risk situation. She could live in Manhattan ... and be close to work. Her job required a lot of client contact, irregular hours. And in the event she wasn't up to the task ..."  
  
"... she could be given a pink slip and sent home without worrying about rent or a lease hanging over her head ..."  
  
"Well, yes, that's it," Gonzalves muttered. "She was from Illinois. But she was an excellent employee, so living and working in Manhattan worked out well for her."  
  
McCoy walked over to a wooden table. "Your Honour, I'd like to present People's Exhibit A1: the master key to suite 3015." He dangled the bagged key, with the Luthor logo embossed on the keychain. "For the record, Mr. Gonzalves ... how many sets of keys does your Wall Street office hold to suite 3015."  
  
Gonzalves glanced nervously around. At the defendant's table, Lex studied the V.P.'s fidgeting. He's looking for an out, Lex wondered to himself. An exit.  
  
"Mr. Gonzalves?" McCoy prodded.  
  
Gonzalves took a breath. "Two sets, Mr. McCoy. That one you now have ... and the employee's set."  
  
McCoy walked over to the evidence table again. "You mean this one?" He dangled another bagged set of keys. "This is People's Exhibit A2, the set of keys found in Chelsea Saunders' purse. Homicide detectives found no signs of forced entry. No tampered locks. Nothing to indicate robbery."  
  
McCoy approached the witness stand. "Explain to me, sir, how anyone could have opened that suite door - if the master set was sitting in your Wall Street offices and the employee set was in Chelsea's purse?"  
  
"Maybe someone followed her inside," Gonzalves replied.  
  
"Oh really," McCoy sneered. "What insight. No wonder you're vice president of operations!"  
  
"Objection!" grumbled Lex's attorney, Richard Goldstein.  
  
"Withdrawn," McCoy continued. "Since Ms. Saunders had her keys, the only means of access - other than the possibility that someone followed her inside - would have been the master set of keys."  
  
"That's impossible!" Gonzalves declared. "We have strict procedures. The only people who have custody of the master keys are senior executives."  
  
"Meaning no one lower than a vice president," McCoy stated. "That would also include Lex Luthor, correct?"  
  
"Mr. Luthor isn't involved in day-to-day activities ..." Gonzalves blurted, as his eyes darted across the courtroom.  
  
"That's not the question I asked!" McCoy insisted. "Lex Luthor had access to the master keys for suite 3015 - yes or no!"  
  
"He's badgering the witness!" Goldstein stood up to protest.  
  
"He's avoiding the question, Your Honour," McCoy said.  
  
Judge Fitzwater nodded. "Objection denied. The witness will answer the question."  
  
Gonzalves bowed his head. "Yes."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Gonzalves," McCoy announced, "could you repeat that again?"  
  
"I said yes, Mr. Luthor would have access to the master keys," Gonzalves wiped his brow.  
  
"Did Lex Luthor have access to the master keys on the night of Chelsea Saunders' murder: yes or no?"  
  
"Yes." Gonzalves replied.  
  
McCoy placed the master keys atop the witness stand. "Under oath, can you declare that you knew the whereabouts of these keys on the night in question?"  
  
"No, Mr. McCoy," Gonzalves reluctantly muttered, "I cannot."  
  
McCoy grinned. "No further questions."  
  
Goldstein adjusted his tie. "Mr. Gonzalves, you say that there are two sets of keys for the Versailles condo, correct?"  
  
Gonzalves nodded. "Yes ... umm, I do."  
  
Goldstein fumbled in his suit pocket. "Are you familiar with Long Island Locksmiths, Mr. Gonzalves?"  
  
"No, sir, I am not," Gonzalves insisted.  
  
McCoy and Southerlyn glanced at each other nervously. What's he up to?  
  
Goldstein yanked out another set of keys and slammed it atop the witness stand. "These keys, sir, are duplicates of the master key set. Made by Long Island Locksmiths. Why is that?"  
  
McCoy immediately stood up. "Objection, Your Honour. The people were unaware of an additional set of keys!"  
  
Judge Fitzwater scowled at Goldstein. "Both of you. In my chambers, now!"  
  
"I don't know what kind of parlour tricks you have up your sleeve, Richard, but don't expect me to put up with it!" McCoy snarled as he closed the doors of Judge Fitzwater's chambers.  
  
"Believe me, Jack, I learned about the third set of keys during the lunch hour," Goldstein declared.  
  
The judge scratched his head. "I'm with the D.A. on this one, counsellor. You have exactly five minutes to explain your tactics or I'll move to strike your cross-examination!"  
  
"Your Honour," Goldstein began, "my client's conviction is based on the assumption that only he had the means to gain entry that night to the Saunders' condo. This new set of keys brings that entire allegation to question."  
  
McCoy rolled his eyes in disbelief. "But it doesn't bring Luthor's motive or opportunity to commit the crime into doubt. I'm not hinging my prosecution on whether or not there were three or 30 keys available!"  
  
"How did you find out about this new set of master keys?" the judge inquired.  
  
"My administrative assistant, Mrs. Kent, noticed a bill of sale in Luthor Corp.'s 1st quarter records," Goldstein stated as he presented the bill to Judge Fitzwater. "I'm prepared to enter this and related documents as part of the evidence."  
  
The judge studied the documents and began to nod. "Make the connection quickly, Mr. Goldstein, or I will strike down this line of questioning."  
  
McCoy protested emphatically. "Your Honour, he's going to lead the jury on a wild goose chase to distract them from the fact that Lex Luthor was in the building at the time of the murder, had the motive, the means and the opportunity to cover up the crime!"  
  
"Well, then, Mr. McCoy," Judge Fitzwater replied, "I'm sure you are capable of making those facts clearer to them." He pointed at both of them. "I want no more surprises. From either of you!"  
  
As the attorneys returned to the courtroom, Mrs. Kent glanced towards Lex, who exchanged a confident grin. McCoy spotted their glances, then glared at her.  
  
His icy stare sent a shudder down her back. She had thrown up a potential roadblock in the D.A.'s prosecution.  
  
Jack was displeased. That didn't bode well for Clark, she feared. 


	14. CH 14

[Major Case Squad, One Police Plaza, Manhattan]  
  
Captain Deakins spotted Detectives Eames and Goren across the hall. They had spent the better part of the afternoon at New York Harbour in an attempt to link the package found in the Saunders' girl's condo to Lex Luthor.  
  
A package that just might link Luthor Corp. to chemical weapons, or at least the ingredients to create them.  
  
"How was your trip to the New York Port Authority?" Deakins inquired.  
  
Eames pulled out a file. "There was ship -- under a Moroccan flag of convenience -- docked there in late November. Its cargo was listed as 'fertilizer and pesticide', en route to Greece."  
  
Deakins reviewed the documents. "It says the ship left two weeks ago ..."  
  
"It should be in the Mediterranean by now," Goren surmised. "Luthor Corp. has a warehouse complex along the Greek coast."  
  
"We don't have much time," Deakins closed the file. "If we can prove that the ship's cargo is more than a heap of dung, we can deliver a hammer blow to Lex Luthor's defense that he had no motive to kill the Saunders' girl."  
  
"I've already tipped off my contact with Interpol," Eames remarked. "Should we inform the FBI at this point ... or the Department of Homeland Security? If the chemical agents in that cargo could be fashioned into chem or bio- weapons ..."  
  
"Hold on a sec, folks," Captain Cragen marched into the room. "Van Buren's got some news for you."  
  
Lieutenant Van Buren arrived, followed by homicide detectives Green and Briscoe. Briscoe was snacking on a bag of pretzels.  
  
"Hey, Lennie, I heard you kicked some ass in that mob raid," Goren joked.  
  
"I may be gettin' up in the years," Briscoe replied, "but I can hold my own in a streetfight." Goren snatched a pretzel from Briscoe's bag.  
  
"Shlomo's Bakery pretzels!" Goren grinned. "I couldn't resist, Lennie."  
  
"Officially, we want as much help as we can get," Van Buren announced. "so we've notified the JAG office in Texas and federal agents in Europe about some of our suspicions."  
  
"... and 'unofficially' ...?" Goren wondered.  
  
"This is a homicide investigation first and foremost," Van Buren stated, "The D.A. says they'll be glory enough for all -- once we get solid proof on both the contents of that Mediterranean ship, and the whereabouts of the alleged accomplice to the murder."  
  
"Lex had some help?" Eames was surprised at the revelation.  
  
Briscoe reviewed his notes. "We pulled Luthor Corp.'s employment records for their security staff over the past 18 months. A few guys had some military experience. But we needed someone who had served with the U.S. Army Rangers. Someone on Luthor's payroll who would knew how to use a Ranger knife ... effectively. We're still waiting on the confirmation from JAG HQ."  
  
Green's cellphone rang. "Yes, this is Detective Green. Uh huh, an AWOL Ranger." He flipped a few pages from his notebook and scribbled. "Yes, it said on his Luthor Corp. records that he was honourably discharged. He wasn't?" He continued to scribble. "His New York address? We're working on it. Yes, we'll let you know when we have it. Thank you, Lieutenant."  
  
"What's the scoop, Ed?" Briscoe wondered. "Is our renegade Rambo still in the Big Apple?"  
  
Green ripped out the sheet from his notebook and showed it to Van Buren. "A Sergeant Wallace Johnson. Formerly a U.S. Ranger out of Fort Hood, Texas. Served in the Gulf, Somalia, Colombia. He never reported back to base after his tour in Bogota. The military police have been looking for him for three years."  
  
"So he stiffs Uncle Sam," Briscoe replied, "then takes crappy security jobs under an assumed name ... right? Otherwise, the MPs could just pull up his social insurance records and locate him."  
  
Van Buren reviewed the sheet. "He used the surname Jenkinson when he worked the front desk at Luthor Corp. Wall Street for six months."  
  
"I'll bet 50 bucks this 'Jenkinson' worked there just prior to Chelsea Saunders' arrival," Goren concluded.  
  
"If Lex needed a fall guy to do the dirty work," Briscoe added, "who better than a military man on the run who's got nothing to lose?"  
  
"Good work, everyone," Van Buren gathered the files and documents. "Wallace Johnson's last known address was in the Upper East Side. We'll let the army MPs know what we've got -- once we have GI Joe in custody. I'll have an unmarked car parked outside his building, just in case our friend tries to jump. Once I get a warrant from D.A. McCoy, we nail him."  
  
"This guy's a trained killer," Deakins offered. "We'd better have an ETF team on stand-by when you make the call, Lieutenant."  
  
"Oh, and on another note," Goren interrupted, "Louie Grundini is turning state's evidence. He figured he's got better odds with the D.A. than with his less amicable Atlantic City buddies."  
  
"Isn't mob loyalty just grand," Briscoe snickered.  
  
Cragen pulled Van Buren aside. "Any chance I'll have Munch and Tutuola back soon?"  
  
"I'm heading to the D.A.'s now, so I'll nudge McCoy to make a call: whether or not to haul that Kent kid in as a material witness," Van Buren assured him. "I sure hope McCoy knows what he's doing. It's my butt on the grill if this mess goes down the drain."  
  
"Yeah," Cragen agreed. "Yours and mine. We get this Johnson fella ... and the case will be locked up so tight, Lex Luthor won't be able to breathe."  
  
The other detectives dispersed to pursue their cases. Briscoe and Green sensed that the investigation was coming to a close. They were one warrant away from the elusive 'smoking gun' that would link Lex Luthor to murder.  
  
And reserve his spot on death row.  
  
[The Torch office, Smallville High]  
  
Chloe looked up from her desk. "How's that article on the science fair going, Pete?"  
  
"I've got one more interview and it'll be all done," Pete replied, as he sat at another desk. "So what's the latest on Lex's Big Trouble in the Big Apple?"  
  
"Lex's attorney, Richard Goldstein, threw a major league curveball when he produced a copy of the master keys to Chelsea Saunders' apartment!" Chloe exclaimed. She sorted through the copies of the Daily Planet. "Here's the morning edition."  
  
Pete's eyes grew wider as he read the morning's headline: "Lex defense alleges that Luthor Corp. execs used Saunders condo for extramarital trysts"  
  
He tossed the paper aside in disgust. "Geez, talk about distracting from the case! It's the Luthors just trying to throw up smoke-and-mirrors! Their backs are against the wall and they need to turn the spotlight away from them!"  
  
Chloe picked up the front page. "And get this . NYPD raided a mob arms shipment. They found the knife used to kill Saunders there! Now they're looking for some Spec Ops commando type ."  
  
"Luthor's hitman, eh? Well, even if Lex didn't do the act himself, he surely must have ordered it!" Pete insisted. "For whatever reason - covering up the chemical shipments, the sex scandal, the mob links - he iced Saunders to keep her mouth shut."  
  
Chloe shook her head in disbelief at the headlines. "This case grows more complicated with each passing day! And they haven't even brought up our affidavits yet . or called Clark to take the stand!"  
  
They heard what sounded like an argument in the hallway. "A Civic? I told ya, John, we should have taken the pickup truck. Who drives a Civic in rural Kansas?" It was Detective Fin Tutuola.  
  
"As if." Chloe immediately knew that voice belonged to Detective John Munch. "Fin, I saw the mileage on that piece of junk. Sure, the Civic isn't up to your macho standards, but that truck was one road trip away from the scrap heap."  
  
"A marital dispute, fellas?" Chloe joked.  
  
Tutuola, still annoyed at Munch's rental car choice, rolled his eyes. "You see what I have to put up with, Chloe. Tell him I'm right - that you need a pickup truck to drive around here."  
  
"I'm afraid I'm with Detective Munch on this one," Chloe announced. "The Civic's more economical."  
  
"Thank you, Miss Sullivan," Munch gloated. He scanned the room. "One intrepid blonde reporter. One loyal buddy of Kent. No Kent. That's two outta three. So where is wonder-boy Clark?"  
  
"Chores," Pete replied. "He won't be by here today."  
  
Tutuola picked up the Daily Planet's front page. "Unbelievable! They're saying Luthor execs were knocking boots with their mistresses on Park Ave.? That's nothing but a load of -"  
  
"-- cow pies?" Chloe remarked.  
  
"-- fertilizer?" Pete added.  
  
"So Luthor begins the 'shock and awe' campaign of the trial," Munch scoffed. "Distract from the truth. Conceal the facts. Misdirect the issue."  
  
"If you'd like we can pass Clark a message?" Chloe offered.  
  
"Yeah," Munch replied. "Tell Clark not to make any plans to leave town. The word from Manhattan is that his time in the spotlight is coming pretty soon. We'll be in touch."  
  
Tutuola picked up on his previous argument as they left. "A Civic? Man, I'm glad my peeps ain't here to see me in that tin can!"  
  
"Poor Clark," Chloe stated, as she called the Kent farm. In the glare of the media capital of America, would Clark be able to withstand the pressure? D.A. McCoy had a reputation for devastating prosecutions. Clark was now in his cross-hairs.  
  
Pete nervously reviewed the Planet again. There was more at stake than a conviction, he mused.  
  
D.A. McCoy could expose Clark's secret.  
  
[Courthouse, Manhattan]  
  
Goldstein escorted his client, Lex Luthor down the hall. At the opposite end, New York State Rep. Connors and his lawyer proceeded to their own trial.  
  
Detective Stabler and ADA Alexandra Cabot stood in the lobby. "Now, Elliot, just stick to the facts," Cabot emphasized. "Don't offer your opinions. And don't go on a moralistic tirade when you take the stand."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," Stabler grumbled. "Stick to the program. Connors' past record. His abuse of power. His questionable behaviour on Wall Street."  
  
"If Detective Benson can get the Nichols girl to testify," Cabot continued, "I'm certain we can force him to cop a plea. Otherwise, he'll be looking at 15-20 at Sing Sing."  
  
"The sooner you lock that sick bastard behind bars, the better," Stabler growled. He looked around. Why was there a throng of media, he wondered.  
  
Oh yeah. Lex's murder trial was around the corner. He noticed Connors wade through the cohort of reporters and photographers. Connors and his attorney steered clear of the cameras. As the state representative passed by Lex, he strained to catch Lex's glance.  
  
When Connors locked eyes with Lex, he nodded to him.  
  
"Ignore him, Lex," Goldstein advised. "Connors may be a political ally of your father's, but he's tainted goods."  
  
"That pretty much describes my father's entire network of alliances," Lex remarked.  
  
Stabler was enraged. Not only was Lex Luthor marshalling the resources of his corporate empire to evade his own conviction for Murder One, he would likely protect his political allies. New York State Representative Connors was a rising star in Albany. Lionel Luthor opened his wallet generously for the assemblyman's past electoral campaigns. Those silver-spooned sons of bitches, Stabler grumbled under his breath.  
  
"Did you see that? Connors knows Lex! Birds of a feather, those two! He's gonna pull some strings and walk off scot-free!" He marched towards Lex and his attorney, itching for a confrontation.  
  
"Elliot!" Cabot declared in vain. This is the last thing we need.  
  
"If I were you, I'd choose better friends," Stabler snarled at Lex.  
  
"And who might you be?" Lex inquired.  
  
"I'm a detective with the Special Victims Unit," Stabler announced. "And your buddy Connors? He's going to spend a very long time in jail. Help yourself out before you even think of throwing that piece of scum a life- preserver."  
  
"Connors is no friend of mine!" Lex protested.  
  
Stabler, who towered over Lex, blocked his path. "Don't play boy scout with me, kid. If you knew what he did ."  
  
"Detective Stabler!" Cabot exclaimed. Stabler turned towards her voice.  
  
Goldstein took the opportunity to yank Lex out of the media horde and towards the exit.  
  
"You should keep your pitbull on a leash, counselor!" Goldstein snapped at Cabot.  
  
Stabler glared at Lex. "Pompous little prick!"  
  
Cabot was livid. "Stabler, I don't interfere in your job. Don't interfere in mine! Don't say a word to the press about the Connors case, understand? That's my job. When you take that stand, you're in my world. If you want Connors behind bars, I expect you to do your job. Is that clear, detective?"  
  
"Yes," Stabler stated. He put on his blazer. "Let's get this legal crap over with."  
  
Cabot frowned. Stabler was a loose cannon. Another outburst like that, she concluded, and I might ask Capt. Cragen to pull him off the case.  
  
[Office of Executive D.A. Jack McCoy, Manhattan]  
  
McCoy sighed and settled into his chair, relieved that he would find some peace in his own office. He wouldn't have to face the voracious New York press, Lex's defense team or reluctant witnesses until tomorrow.  
  
"Thank goodess Judge Fitzwater instructed the jury to disregard Goldstein's cross-examination involving those extra-marital trysts in Versailles Condos," Southerlyn stated.  
  
McCoy reviewed the documents in his file. "Unfortunately, he's succeeded in planting a spark of doubt. With that third set of keys, Richard will try to argue that any one of Luthor Corp.'s senior New York execs might have silenced Chelsea Saunders to conceal their alleged infidelities."  
  
"Well, once we put the superintendent -- and the videotapes -- before the jury, we'll blow a hole right through that preposterous theory," Southerlyn insisted.  
  
A knock on the door interrupted the counsellors' thoughts.  
  
Lieutenant Van Buren, accompanied by a tall, brown-haired woman in a medical lab coat, opened the wood panelled door.  
  
"Tell me you've got some good news for me," McCoy pleaded. "I've got the New York Gazette accusing me of political interference, Mayor Bloomberg expressing sympathy for the Luthor family ... and Lex beaming smugly before the cameras!"  
  
"We have a lead," Van Buren declared. "We've traced the murder weapon to a former Ranger." She opened the case file, revealing a dated photo. Wallace Johnson was a thirty-something white male with close-cropped hair. "He worked for Luthor Corp. under an assumed identity. The military police have been looking for him since 2000."  
  
Southerly glanced at the other woman, Medical Examiner Melinda Warner. "And can we link Johnson to the murder weapon?"  
  
Warner laid out several autopsy photos of Chelsea Saunders. "See the serration along the neck? It matches that of the knife found in the warehouse."  
  
"The defense will declare that it's coincidence!" McCoy was unconvinced. "Maybe some goon bought the knife at an army surplus store."  
  
"Maybe," Warner replied. "But not everyone would have been so efficient with the weapon." She pointed at another photo. "He was quick. Clean. He sliced her throat like butter, cutting the carotid artery. Knowing that she would bleed to death in minutes. This was not a mindless act of passion. Your killer knew what to do with the weapon."  
  
Van Buren frowned at the gruesome photos. "The poor girl didn't have a chance."  
  
McCoy considered the evidence before him. This Johnson was a wanted man. He had to strike quickly -- before he escaped.  
  
Or before the army captured him first.  
  
"Our people are just waiting for the sign to move on him," Van Buren said. "If you can get a warrant, you'll have living proof of Luthor's involvement in this mess! At the very least, he's a material witness."  
  
McCoy reviewed the headline on the New York Times. "LUTHOR TRIAL BOGGED DOWN; 'SMOKING GUN' ELUDES NYPD". The entire trial had become water-cooler gossip. He had heard the snide remarks in the coffee shops. The tasteless jokes in the subway. How can they convict Lex if they couldn't even connect the murder to him? the people would say. Hell, until recently, they didn't even have a murder weapon!  
  
Now the wheel of fortune was spinning in his favour. He would not have this Sgt. Wallace Johnson rotting in Leavenworth. He would wring the truth out of the renegade soldier and use his testimony to muzzle Lex Luthor's arrogant grin forever.  
  
Lex would answer for his crimes with a lifetime in Sing Sing prison. Or face his maker on death row.  
  
"I'll have a signed warrant by the end of the hour," McCoy promised. "Lieutenant Van Buren? Arrest him for murder. Use whatever force you feel is necessary to ensure that Wallace Johnson is captured. Alive and unharmed. I need him intact if I'm to haul him before the jury."  
  
Van Buren quickly gathered her files. "And the SVU detectives? Cragen wants to know if they can come home. With Kent."  
  
"Yes," McCoy replied. "Even with Johnson's testimony, I'd like to have my star witness on the bench. Just in case. Have them execute the subpoena for Clark Kent. Remember: he is to have no contact with his mother, since Mrs. Kent is working for defense!"  
  
Now, Van Buren thought, it's time for the NYPD to deliver. The Saunders family will have justice soon. She dialed her cellphone.  
  
"Detective Briscoe? It's game-time! I want you and Green at Johnson's last known address -- with as many men and squad cars as you can muster. Now. D.A. Southerlyn will have the warrant. We're booking him for murder!" 


	15. CH 15

[Tribeca Apartments, Upper East Side, NYC, Wednesday December 4]  
  
An NYPD squad car pulled up to the curb. ADA Serena Southerlyn exited from the passenger seat. Detective Stabler and Captain Cragen popped the car trunk to retrieve their Kevlar body armour.  
  
A dozen heavily armed Emergency Task Force officers - bristling with batons, semi-automatic weapons and helmets - assembled outside the building. An elderly couple peered from behind their curtains. Someone's dog barked in a nearby alley.  
  
Detective Briscoe motioned to the couple to get away from the window. "Everyone wants a front-row seat to the show," he grumbled.  
  
Southerlyn pulled out a sheet of paper. "A signed warrant for Sgt. Wallace Johnson," she began, ". as a material witness to the murder of Chelsea Saunders."  
  
Briscoe snorted in disgust. "Well, that's better than nothing. I take it McCoy thinks Lex ordered the killing?"  
  
Southerlyn watched the ETF company quietly file into the building. Atop the surrounding buildings were some uniformed officers. "Jack is planning to have Johnson testify that the Lex sanctioned the killing. We have a pretty good case against Lex - as it stands now. With Clark Kent's testimony and, hopefully, Johnson's ."  
  
". Lex gets Sing Sing or a lethal injection ." Briscoe replied, ". and 'Hang 'em High' McCoy gets visions of the Albany governor's mansion dancing in his head"  
  
Southerlyn grinned. "You sound like those talking heads on CNN!"  
  
"He's not as dumb as he looks, Ms. Southerlyn," Green laughed.  
  
Cragen returned with a bulletproof vest. "Serena, you better put this on. Things could get toasty in Tribeca in a few minutes."  
  
Briscoe held the warrant in his fist. "McCoy wants Johnson alive and intact, Captain."  
  
Cragen strapped on his holster. "Well, that depends if this Johnson wants to go quietly - or go down in a blaze of glory." He stooped under the yellow 'Police Do Not Cross' tape that wrapped around the entire block.  
  
"Lennie, are you sure you're up for this?" Cragen remarked to Briscoe. "Detective Green's a big boy. I think he can execute the warrant. We've got enough firepower bearing down on this guy ."  
  
Green glanced over to his more senior partner. Lennie Briscoe was one of the best detectives in the Homicide Division. Fiercely loyal to his fellow officers. If there's one thing he learned about Lennie, it's that once he starts something . he intends to see it through. Lennie had nothing to prove to anyone. Still, Green thought, Lennie shouldn't have to put his life on the line for what seemed to be a simple arrest.  
  
He knew, however, that Lennie Briscoe never backed down from a fight.  
  
"Hey, I was there when the CSU had to scrape off Chelsea's blood from the floor!" Briscoe declared. "I broke the news to poor Mrs. Saunders. If anyone's gonna take down Rambo up there, it's gonna be me and Green!"  
  
Cragen relented. "Of course. Absolutely."  
  
He handed Briscoe a radio. "Van Buren's running the operation from the dispatcher's command. I'll be online, too. If anything comes up ."  
  
"We call in the cavalry, gotcha," Green replied.  
  
The radio crackled. It was Van Buren "Cragen? I've got our shrink, George Huang online."  
  
"Any last minute advice, doc?" Cragen asked.  
  
"Wallace Johson was a US Army Ranger," Huang answered. "Trained to kill. The usual moral checks and balances that keep you and I from acting on our darker impulses ... have been switched off in his mind. He knows the army's on to him. He's got nothing to lose. This guy's seen action in the jungles of South America, the sands of Kuwait . If he feels he's backed into a corner, he'll attack. Without remorse."  
  
Cragen pulled Green aside. "Well you know who we're up against. We want him alive, alright? Lex Luthor's entire case could rise or fall on this ex- soldier. And keep an eye on Lennie, will ya?"  
  
"Always, Captain," Green nodded. "It's a piece of cake, right?"  
  
Briscoe, Lennie and a dozen ETF officers streamed up the wooden staircase. They stopped at apartment 405. A pair of ETF officers flanked either side of the door, while their colleagues covered the hallways.  
  
Briscoe pounded on the door loudly. "Wallace Johnson! Open up, it's the police. We have a warrant for your arrest! Come out nicely. I won't ask again!" He pounded on the door again.  
  
Green shrugged. "Time for plan two." The detectives stepped aside as one of the officers swung a large black, battering ram against the door. The wooden doorframe splintered, as the door gave way.  
  
Green was first into the breach. He took cover behind a wall. He could see the living room: a TV set, radio, couch. "All clear, here."  
  
Briscoe clutched his revolver as he slowly approached the bedroom. The door was closed. He nodded at Green to come over.  
  
"I'll just do this the old-fashioned way," Green mumbled. He kicked open the door. The room was empty. The sheets were crumpled. Johnson was here today.  
  
The entire ETF company was now in the apartment. Briscoe clicked on his radio. "Van Buren? His apartment is secure. No sign of our AWOL soldier boy."  
  
Briscoe walked into the kitchen. The kitchen window was open. On the table was a half-empty cup of coffee. He placed his hand just above the rim. It was still warm.  
  
"Call in the CSU to dust the place," Briscoe announced. "I think we better search every building in this area. He can't be far."  
  
Suddenly, they heard a rattling of steel. Green leaped atop the counter, pulled back the curtains and peered out the window. Two flights above him, a man was struggling to climb the rusted fire escape.  
  
"You were right, Lennie," Green smiled. "Johnson's making a break for the roof!" Green pulled open the window as wide as he could. "I'm going after him."  
  
"I'll leave you to do the Spiderman thing," Briscoe joked. "I'll head for the stairwell, in case he tries to double back."  
  
Atop the building, a rookie cop named Mike scanned the horizon. It was partly cloudy. The first sprinkles of snow had already begun. He had been on this roof for over an hour. Haven't they already caught the guy, he complained to himself.  
  
He heard a screech of metal. He only caught a brief glimpse of his attacker. A thirty-something man. Well-built, with a crew-cut and flecks of grey on his hair. Mike fumbled with his holster, but it was too late.  
  
The struggle was brief. Mike felt a burning sensation in his chest. The attacker has impaled a kitchen knife deep within his chest. He couldn't scream because a pair of big hands had muffled his mouth. His will to live slipped away with each painful breath.  
  
Wallace Johnson took the gun from the officer's holster. Another screech of metal disturbed his thoughts.  
  
Green gasped at the sight of the fallen officer. As the renegade Ranger spun around, the detective aimed his gun. "Hands in the air! Now!"  
  
Johnson could hear the clamping of several footsteps on the fire escape. In moments, this rooftop would be crawling with cops.  
  
"No," Johnson replied. He fired several shots. Green hit the ground to avoid the bullets. When he looked up, Johnson was already running towards the edge of the building. He can't go anywhere now, he thought.  
  
But Johnson kept running. Then he jumped. Green slowed down as he approached the edge. It was several stories to the busy street below.  
  
"Ya gotta be kidding me!" he yelled.  
  
If he didn't act now, Johnson would slip away forever in New York's concrete maze. He glanced back. Shouts of "Officer down! Officer down!" echoed across the rooftops.  
  
"Don't lose him, Ed!" Briscoe hollered, as he clutched the hand of the bleeding cop.  
  
Green backed up several feet. He sprinted across the roof to build momentum, then jumped from the ledge.  
  
"I hate this Matrix crap!" Green grumbled as he landed atop the roof of another building. He grimaced. The clumsy landing knocked the wind out of him, but he was okay. Johnson was already at the edge of another building.  
  
Green reached the edge of the second building. Johnson had found another fire escape and was quickly climbing down to the street level.  
  
"Freeze!" Green hollered, with his gun pointed at Johnson's head. Johnson fired first, but the bullet deflected off a metal bar. Then Green fired. He believed he had shot the man, but Johnson got up and continued to descend the metal stairs. The ex-Ranger dropped from the ladder and raced towards a subway station.  
  
"Suspect is on foot heading west towards the subway line," Green announced on his radio.  
  
Atop the Tribeca apartment complex, Briscoe tried to comfort the dying officer. There were no parting words. No prayers to God. The rookie, Mike, died in a pool of blood without a sound. Briscoe closed the cop's eyelids: a final act of dignity. A swarm of officers arrived, stunned and angered at the slaying.  
  
"He's going to try to make a break for Florida, Ed," Briscoe replied on his radio. "We found a flight itinerary in the bedroom. Stay on his tail - no matter what! I'll meet you at the subway station."  
  
A few minutes later, sirens wailed throughout the neighbourhood. It was in vain, Briscoe knew, because the rookie cop Mike had died of massive bleeding.  
  
"Looks like you now got yourself a cop-killer, Serena," Briscoe growled, as he left the apartment complex. He grabbed another gun and several rounds of ammunition from the ETF truck. "His ass is mine! We'll take him alive if possible. But dead, if necessary." He jogged westward towards the subway station.  
  
"I'll notify the U.S. Marshals' office," Southerlyn offered.  
  
Stabler pounded the squad car's roof in frustration. "Damn it all to hell! Johnson's gonna jump the country . Lex'll walk. That's just friggin' great!"  
  
"That's not how it's going to end, detective!" Southerlyn protested.  
  
"Oh really, counselor?" Stabler snarled. "Your boss is getting his butt handed to him in court, thanks to Lex's well-funded legal team. Heck, even the mayor's office seems to think Luthor's innocent. We've got a dead cop on that roof, Serena, and you have the nerve to tell me things are still going your way?"  
  
"Stabler, back off!" Cragen snapped. He glanced at both Elliot and Serena. "We're all on the same team, right?"  
  
"Thank you, captain," Southerlyn replied. "Now that Johnson's loose, I don't think we can keep the army out of this for much longer. Once the media gets hold of this ."  
  
"Then we nail him before any of that happens," Cragen stated. "Stabler, you're riding shotgun with me. The itinerary says he's going to catch a flight out of JFK airport. We'll head him off there."  
  
Stabler's mind, however, was somewhere else. Lex Luthor had managed to keep his hands clean, it seemed, by ordering a lackey to kill Chelsea Saunders. Surely, this Johnson fella knew he would be the fall guy if things went sour. Well, they were sour now. He's got the entire NYPD out for blood.  
  
The only way Wallace Johnson could avoid the lethal injection was to cut a deal. More bloody lawyers.  
  
Johnson with life in prison. Luthor with a reserved seat on death row. Stabler wondered if he could live with that possible outcome. The attorneys and the politicians always muddied up the justice system with their inadequate laws and posturing. The truth is, he didn't know what true justice was at this point.  
  
A cop was killed. They would catch his killer. That's all that mattered now, Stabler mused.  
  
"Elliot," Cragen interrupted. "I need you focused. We gotta get Johnson before he boards that flight. If he gets out of the U.S., he'll disappear for good!"  
  
Stabler blinked away his disorientation. "I am focused. JFK. Stop him from boarding. Gotcha." Their squad car screamed out of the Upper East Side. The streets of New York rang with sirens as an endless stream of squad cars dashed in search of Wallace Johnson.  
  
The hunt for a killer had begun.  
  
[McDonald's, Smallville]  
  
Chloe stirred the chocolate sundae. Yippee, ice milk and artificial chocolate, she groaned. She wasn't that upset with her lunch. Although that McChicken sandwich was a little heavy on the sauce.  
  
"I realize that fries are awful for my arteries," Munch interrupted, with a Big Mac combo on his tray, "but they taste pretty darn good." He snacked on a fry. "How's that for living on the edge?"  
  
Munch's remarks momentarily brightened Chloe's mood. "Well, I'm young so I'm immortal."  
  
Munch settled on a stool beside her. "Ah, yes. Youth. You know what they say about that?"  
  
"That it's wasted on the young?" Chloe replied.  
  
"Bingo." Munch sipped on his coke. "You're not your usual Pulitzer Prize- seeking, chipper self, Sullivan." Then he looked outside the window. Clark Kent was having a lively conversation with Lana Lang.  
  
Betty was clearly flirting with Archie, he mused.  
  
"Oh." Munch stated. He and Tutuola had been here long enough to notice the potentially divisive love triangle that would one day tug Clark, Lana and Chloe into a sordid tangle of scorned feelings and betrayal. At least, that was his "SVU detective's" conclusion.  
  
As a man who had survived the carnage of divorce - barely - he could sympathize with the innocence of a schoolgirl's lament for true love.  
  
"Tutuola's right," Munch offered. "You're not registering loud enough on Clark's radar."  
  
"We're just friends," Chloe insisted, "and I'd rather not talk about it."  
  
"Denial, in your case, is not a river in Egypt, Miss Sullivan," Munch replied - in between Big Mac bites. "I'd bet Clark is more nervous about being 'just friends' with you than you realize."  
  
Chloe observed her two friends across the street. Clark's easy-going smile. Lana non-chalantly touching Clark's arm in consolation.  
  
It was the ease of their attraction that made her nervous. That made her scared.  
  
Chloe ate another spoonful of half-melted sundae. "I have a good relationship with Clark. To toss that aside ... to even entertain something other than friendship would be ..."  
  
"... the most exhilarating thing to happen." Munch concluded her sentence. "I'm not saying you should interfere in that courtship ritual Clark and Lana are going through now. All I'm saying is you should leave doors open. Stop sitting on the bench, Sullivan. Take that chance - that one chance that could change your life. Who knows? Maybe you and Clark are meant for each other."  
  
"... or I'll end up filing for 'irreconcilable differences' on our divorce papers 10 years from now ..." Chloe smirked.  
  
Munch shrugged. "Risk is what makes life worth living." He chewed on another fry. "Which brings me back to these fries. Care for a few? You're immortal, so you can afford a few blood-clotting fries."  
  
Chloe grinned as she nibbled on a fry. "I'll do my best to prolong your cardiovascular health, detective."  
  
Tutuola burst through the doors. "John! You're still eating lunch! Man, you're slow. I gotta call from the D.A. We're going back home! With Clark Kent."  
  
"And so rings the death knell for Luthor Corp.," Munch deadpanned. "I'm itching to get back to Manhattan. Clark better not have cold feet." He put on his sunglasses.  
  
"Well, if he does, he can warm himself on Riker's Island," Tutuola replied. "It's about time McCoy moved in for the kill!"  
  
Munch and Tutuola approached Lana and Clark. "Forgive us, Ms. Lang," Munch said, "but might we have a word with Clark?"  
  
Lana glanced nervously at the detectives. "Umm, sure!" She gave Clark's arm a supportive squeeze, then retreated to the McDonalds across the street.  
  
"I think you know what's up, Mr. Kent," Tutuola replied. "But we gotta make this official: Clark Kent, we're executing a subpoena ordering you to testify in the murder trial of Lex Luthor."  
  
Clark frowned as he studied the document, embossed with the seal of the Attorneys General of Kansas and New York State. "I'm not going to sell out my friend. Lex didn't do it!"  
  
"Well that's not your call. It's for the jury to decide," Tutuola replied. "It's a simple choice: the witness stand. Or a contempt of court charge. If you wanna be Lex's cellmate in Riker's, that's your decision."  
  
"I gather you're already packed?" Munch inquired.  
  
Clark sighed. "Yeah. We can pass by the farm and pick up my things." He sat in the back seat of their car.  
  
Tutuola fumbled with the radio dial. "Hmmph. Nothin' but country and 'edge' music. Don't you guys have an urban music channel out here?"  
  
Clark shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. Maybe when we get close to Metropolis?"  
  
Munch studied their flight details. D.A. Southerlyn would meet them at JFK. From there, Clark would be sequestered in a hotel. Kent must have known Lex Luthor's frame of mind during the two weeks prior to the Saunders killing.  
  
Far from the comforting fields of Smallville, Clark Kent would face a personal ordeal. His words could set Lex free.  
  
Or condemn him to death.  
  
[Office of Executive D.A. Jack McCoy, Manhattan NYC]  
  
Goldstein shook his head. McCoy had conscripted this Clark Kent to appear before the jury. As Lex's best friend, he was a pivotal character witness for the prosecution. Clark may not have been at the murder scene, but he knew - better than anyone - what Lex may or may not have said or thought prior to the Saunders murder.  
  
"I'm not going to let you railroad my client with some high school hick who's probably never seen rush hour traffic in his entire life!" Goldstein barked.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. McCoy," Lex added, "I never discussed my business affairs in detail with Clark. He's got nothing to do with this."  
  
McCoy leaned back in his leather chair. He grinned. Both Lex and his attorney knew that the momentum was shifting in favour of the prosecution.  
  
Earlier in the week, Goldstein had tried to throw out the testimony of condo superintendent Joe Solensky. The seizure of the security camera tapes was inappropriate, the defense had argued, and violated Lex Luthor's privacy rights. McCoy smiled as he recalled his own rebuttal: Lex Luthor had no more expectation of privacy in a condo garage than he did in a bank, a mall or hospital waiting room. The tape - depicting Lex entering the condo minutes before the Saunders killing - was fair game.  
  
Let them squirm, he chuckled to himself.  
  
"So you're prepared to testify - under oath - that you never discussed any of your business and travel plans in New York with Clark Kent?" McCoy demanded.  
  
"My client will not take the stand and subject himself to your unfounded allegations," Goldstein reiterated.  
  
McCoy leaned towards Lex. "Is that what Richard has been advising you? I'm going to lean hard on your buddy, Mr. Kent. He's going to tell me exactly what the jury needs to hear. I'm just waiting on Interpol's report on your Greek warehouses. We'll have evidence of Luthor Corp.'s involvement in bio- weapons, exchanges of funds to parties unknown. You know what that adds up to, Mr. Luthor?"  
  
Lex held his temper in check. He would not permit Jack McCoy to see any sign of weakness, any shaking of resolve. "Please, enlighten me, Mr. McCoy. What do these ridiculous claims add up to?"  
  
"They're motive for Murder One, Lex," McCoy replied. "And once I have you under lock and key, my friend D.A. Carver will bring up conspiracy charges against Luthor Corp. The feds will take away everything that you would have rightfully inherited. You'll be lucky to hang onto that quaint little castle you have in Smallville!"  
  
"Idle threats, Jack," Goldstein scoffed. "Judge Fitzwater may have ok'd your 'star' witness. That doesn't mean I won't find holes in his testimony. Did you ask us here for a reason, or just to gloat?"  
  
"This can end today," McCoy announced, as he strolled to his bookcase. "The media scrutiny, the looming federal investigation into Lex's business transactions. All of it. I take the death penalty off the table. I'll even remove the conspiracy charges. Let Lionel Luthor knot his own noose. Lex pleads guilty to murder. He serves 15 to 20 behind bars."  
  
Goldstein shook his head again vigorously. "Absolutely not. Lex would have better odds in Vegas. You've got a case built on circumstantial evidence, at best. The only conspiracy I see is the one between the D.A.'s office, Albany and the NYPD - in a bid to discredit the Luthor family." He packed his briefcase. "I think the jury will see things our way. Lex, we're leaving."  
  
Lex straightened his blazer as he stood up. "I wouldn't be too hard on Clark Kent, if I were you," he cautioned.  
  
"Clark Kent means nothing to me," McCoy sneered. He knew Clark was precisely the leverage he needed to chip away at Lex's defences. "If I sense that he's lying to me at trial, I'll charge him with perjury and toss him in prison. If he's prepared to lie to protect you, he'll leave me with no choice. I doubt Lana Lang would want to go to the spring formal with him - if he's sitting behind bars at Riker's! I don't think he'd want to be your pal after that, Lex."  
  
Lex bit his lip. McCoy was trying to get under his skin.  
  
He was doing a pretty good job.  
  
Lex wanted to shout at the D.A. He wanted to wrap the old fart's tie around his self-righteous, legal-eagle neck. He had become a pawn in his father's battles with his enemies (and there were many) in Albany. He was now a pawn in Jack McCoy's personal ambitions. The conviction of a Luthor would send shockwaves throughout the state - and the country. McCoy would likely use the victory to launch a run at Arthur Branch's job, or a seat in the Albany statehouse. The family's allies on Wall Street and Capitol Hill would scatter like spilled marbles. The foes of Luthor Corp. would exploit that opportunity to rip apart the corporation.  
  
And thus, destroy Lex's own aspiration for greatness.  
  
Lex cleared his throat. "It would be in your best interests to bring this trial to a quick conclusion."  
  
McCoy glared at the insolent young man. "Are those words to live by, Mr. Luthor?"  
  
"Well that depends on you, Mr. McCoy," Lex replied, "How badly do you want Arthur Branch's job? He may be one of my father's acolytes. To me, he's nothing of consequence. Choose your allies well: you don't know who you might pass on the road to Albany."  
  
"Goodbye, Mr. Luthor!" McCoy snapped.  
  
As Lex closed the office door, he smiled. McCoy was letting his ambitions cloud his common sense. That may bode well for his defense.  
  
Unfortunately, McCoy had the sense to subpoena his best friend. Lex believed he could count on his friend's loyalty.  
  
Faith in Clark's honesty was all he could count on.  
  
It was all that separated him from future success. Or an abrupt and bitter defeat. 


	16. CH 16

[116 Street, New York City, Wednesday December 4]  
  
"Detective Green!" Van Buren crackled on the radio.  
  
Green and Briscoe flashed their badges, prompting the fare collector to wave them through.  
  
"Lieutenant, we're on the 6 Line platform," Green replied. "Looks like Wallace wants to skip the sightseeing and go underground."  
  
"I'm sure he'll feel right at home with the rats," Briscoe remarked.  
  
The noon-hour crowd began to fill the station. Transit riders peered down the tunnels, awaiting the trains.  
  
A dozen uniformed officers arrived. "I want guys posted at all the exits," Briscoe instructed. "No 'Dirty Harry' heroics. Our suspect is armed and dangerous." Pairs of cops returned to the subway exits and fare booths.  
  
The detectives had holstered their guns to keep a low profile. There was no sense in alarming the transit riders.  
  
Suddenly, Green spotted the jeans and grey hooded sweatshirt of New York's most wanted suspect. He seemed to be pacing nervously on the platform. "Briscoe," he whispered. "You go around the other way." Briscoe nodded, then melted into the bustling crowd.  
  
Johnson didn't seem to notice as Green inched closer to him. A few feet away, Briscoe slowly approached from the platform. Briscoe nodded again.  
  
Green grabbed the suspect and shoved him against the wall.  
  
"What the --?" the suspect yelped.  
  
"Wallace Johnson, you are under arrest for ." Green began, as he removed the hood from his face.  
  
"Great," Briscoe grumbled. "You got the wrong guy, Ed!"  
  
"Sorry about that," Green offered. The unfortunate transit rider angrily glared at the detectives.  
  
The screeches of the subway train soon echoed through the tunnels. It was the southbound train. They had to find Johnson before he boarded the train. If he managed to slip into the subway system, he could go anywhere.  
  
The riders jostled into position as the train zoomed into the station, then slowed to a halt. Green and Briscoe scanned over the patrons' heads to try to spot their suspect.  
  
At the far end of the platform, Wallace Johnson had pulled his hood over his head. He waited for the last of the passengers to exit the subway train, then he squeezed into the crowded car. He was stuck between a woman with a cello case, a pair of businessmen and a gaggle of giggly Catholic schoolgirls in their plaid kilts.  
  
Green spotted the grey hooded sweatshirt. "He's getting on the train!" Green shoved aside passengers as he tried to get close to Johnson. Green was already running towards the far end of the platform. "Hurry up, Lennie!" he hollered.  
  
Green boarded the train at the nearest door, followed by a guy in a purple mohawk and three orange-robed Hare Krishnas.  
  
The train doors chimed a warning. They were about to close. A group of 25 students quickly squeezed into the car. In the distance, Green waved at his partner to board the train. The students crammed into the train, leaving little room for anyone else. Before Briscoe could reach the doors, they closed on him.  
  
"Dammit!" Briscoe cursed, as he pounded against the subway windows in exasperation. The train slowly accelerated before disappearing into the tunnel. He clicked on his radio.  
  
"Suspect is heading south on the 6 Line," he announced.  
  
"You mean . Green's on that train without backup?" Van Buren inquired.  
  
"Yeah," Briscoe sighed, as he tried to catch his breath. "I shoulda been on that train!"  
  
"Green can hold his own, Lennie, don't you worry," Van Buren replied. "I'll send patrols to all the stations serviced by the 6 Line. I think we better have our forces regroup. Johnson may try to lose himself in the downtown core."  
  
Van Buren switched channels on her radio. "Serena, are you there?"  
  
Southerlyn was already on the road. "I'll be meeting Munch, Tutuola and Clark Kent at JFK," she replied.  
  
"Green's on the 6 Line train, southbound," Van Buren revealed, "I was wondering if you could pull some strings at New York City Transit."  
  
Southerlyn cradled the receiver against her ear as she made a left turn. "What sort of strings?"  
  
"I want to shut down the 6 Line," Van Buren stated.  
  
"Excuse me?" Southerlyn gasped. "You want NYC Transit to shut down an entire subway line? During the lunch hour?"  
  
"You heard me," Van Buren answered. "Johnson has hundreds of potential hostages on that train. And Green's on his own."  
  
"I'll call up Jack and see what we can do," Southerlyn said. "McCoy's going to settle for nothing less than a murder conviction for Lex Luthor. Johnson may be just the witness he needs. I'll be in touch, Anita."  
  
Van Buren took a deep breath. Green was a capable detective. But, he did have a hot streak in him. Without the moderating influence of his grizzled veteran partner, he may be tempted to take risks that Lennie Briscoe never would.  
  
A crowded lunch-hour subway train complicated this situation, she feared. Shutting down the subway line was the only way to contain this crisis.  
  
On the southbound train, Green slowly moved towards the front of the car. He pulled the door lock down and slid open the door. He carefully crossed to the next subway car, then pulled open the door. A few curious passengers glanced at him, then proceeded to avoid eye contact with him - or anyone else.  
  
They just want to get from point A to point B, Green concluded. Hopefully, everyone will mind their business when the take-down happens. He scanned the car's passengers. No grey hooded pullover. He quickly grabbed a pole as the train stopped at the next stop.  
  
Green dashed outside to observe the exiting riders. No sign of Wallace Johnson. He hoped that the suspect was still aboard this train. The subway car raced into the darkness of the tunnel again. He exited this car, pulled down the door lock of the next car and slid the next door open.  
  
This car was packed from door-to-door. No one noticed him as he wriggled his way to the middle of the car. He ducked his head behind the newspaper of some business type, who was studying the NHL standings.  
  
"I hope the Rangers get their act together this season," Green quipped. "I lost a bundle last year!"  
  
The businessman chuckled. "You're telling me! That's one office pool I'd rather forget."  
  
He peered above the pages. At the front of the car, Wallace Johnson leaned against one of the doors. The train approached the next station, then screeched to a quick stop. Johnson soon exited.  
  
Damn, Green mumbled. He moved through the crowd, but the doors began to close again. Johnson had just stepped out to let some passengers off, but returned to the car.  
  
I have to make my move soon, Green thought. He quietly unsnapped his holster cover and palmed his gun underneath his blazer sleeve. He stepped past a pair of businessmen, then pulled out his police badge.  
  
"Everyone on the floor!" Green barked as he yanked out his gun. Johnson was pressed against the doors. He has no opportunity to pull out his gun.  
  
The passengers shrieked at the sight of the gun and ducked beside their chairs or on the floor.  
  
"Wallace Johnson, you are under arrest!" Green yelled. "Put your hands in the air. Now!"  
  
Johnson's eyes darted frantically from side-to-side. There was no escape. By the time the train reached the next station, he would be finished. Every station on this line must be swarmed by cops.  
  
One of the Catholic schoolgirls - a petite brunette - sobbed uncontrollably. Green's attention was momentarily distracted.  
  
Johnson took the opportunity to grab the girl by the arm and yanked her in front of him. He held the girl's throat firmly. She couldn't be older than 16, Green noted.  
  
"Another move, detective, and I snap little Miss Prom Queen's neck!" Johnson growled. The train had arrived at its next stop.  
  
When the doors opened, Green could hear Lennie Briscoe's voice. He had arrived with the cavalry: two dozen heavily armed task force officers.  
  
"Ed! Where are you!" Briscoe yelled as he ran towards the front of the train.  
  
"One word, and she's a goner!" Johnson snarled.  
  
"Okay, okay," Green pleaded. "I'm putting my gun on the floor. Just don't hurt the girl." The girl sobbed as Johnson held his arm firmly around her neck.  
  
"Ed!" Briscoe exclaimed. The voice was getting closer. They had enough manpower to subdue Johnson, Green frowned, but his recklessness ensnared him in a dangerous mess.  
  
Before Briscoe could reach the conductor, the train's doors closed. The subway accelerated again, as the tracks squealed.  
  
On the platform, Briscoe sighed in frustration. He clicked the radio again. "Van Buren! Green must still be on the southbound train! We gotta stop it before it reaches Grand Central Station!"  
  
"I'm already on it," Van Buren replied. "NYC Transit says they'll stop it around 34th street."  
  
"Roger that," Briscoe said. He turned towards the other cops. "The train's stopping around 34th. I want all available units in that vicinity. You stop anyone who even has a grey hooded pullover, understand. We're gonna get this bastard!"  
  
On the 6 Line southbound train, Green slowly kicked his gun towards Johnson. Once they arrived at Grand Central Station, Johnson could vanish on any line. Lost forever among the mid-afternoon crowd.  
  
"You're wanted for Chelsea Saunders' murder, Johnson," Green said. "We know Lex had a hand in it. Now you've killed a cop. You've got New York's Finest tearing apart Manhattan looking for you. You can either surrender and get out of this mess with your life, or some quick-draw rookie's gonna shoot first and ask questions later!"  
  
The girl continued to whimper. Droplets of sweat streamed down Johnson's forehead. "No. No! You don't get it, do you? You can't stop them. Not you! Not anyone!"  
  
"What the hell you talkin' about?" Green asked. "Stop who?"  
  
"Cops can't protect me!" Johnson ranted. "They got friends in the NYPD. In the governor's office, Capitol Hill, the Pentagon. There's no stopping them!"  
  
"You want police protection from the mob?" Green offered. "Tell us what you know! Don't you see - you're their fall guy! Turn yourself in, and we can help you!"  
  
"Don't you get it? They're bigger than the mob!" Johnson revealed, as he gripped the girl's throat tightly. "Nothing can stop them!"  
  
"Who?" Green demanded. "Who can't we stop? If it's not the mob, then who! Is it Luth -"  
  
The train abruptly stopped at the next station. All the doors swooshed open. "Attention all passengers," the PA crackled. "All passengers please leave the train. There is an emergency situation in progress. All passengers, please leave the train."  
  
Johnson shoved the girl into Green, then sprinted out of the train.  
  
"Are you okay, miss?" Green asked. When she nodded, he pursued Johnson. As Johnson bounded up the stairs, Green grappled with him. Johnson punched Green's kidney, then kicked him down the stairs.  
  
Green gripped his side. He winced in pain as he climbed the stairs, then jumped over the turn-stiles to the exit.  
  
He looked at the corner. It was 34th and 8th. He could see the Empire State Building in the distance. Madison Square Garden stood before him. He crossed the street, then glanced around. He could see Johnson racing along 8th Avenue. Cars honked and screeched to a halt as he navigated the mid-afternoon traffic.  
  
A yellow cab stopped at a corner to let a passenger off. Before the driver could close the door, Johnson pulled out his gun. "Out of the car!" he barked.  
  
The driver quickly unbuckled his seat and jumped out of the car. Johnson slammed the door closed and drove into the Manhattan traffic.  
  
Green tried to jog after the cab, squinting at the license plate as the cab sped away.  
  
"Johnson's in a yellow cab!" he announced on his radio. "I've got a partial license plate, beginning with TX ..."  
  
"We checked out JFK's flights to Florida," Van Buren replied. "Johnson couldn't get his airline to book him on the latest Florida flight out. So he can't be going to JFK."  
  
Green sighed, as a platoon of heavily armed ETF officers arrived. "Great. Johnson's running out of time. And options. The quickest way out of the Big Apple - short of swimming the Hudson River - is ..."  
  
"LaGuardia Airport," Van Buren replied. She clicked another switch on the system. "Attention all available units. Suspect is in a Yellow Cab ... license plate beginning with TX ... likely destination is LaGuardia Airport. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Use all means necessary to apprehend him. And I mean alive, people! A lot's riding on this guy."  
  
Several NYPD vans and vehicles converged beside Madison Square Garden. Green kept his eyes locked on 8th Ave.  
  
"Where to, Lieutenant?" inquired the ETF company commander.  
  
"Someone gimme a piece," Green remarked. "I lost mine on the 6 Line."  
  
The commander retrieved a pump-action shotgun. "Will this work for you?"  
  
Green smiled. "Sweet. Lock 'n load, fellas! It's time to take care of business. We're going to LaGuardia."  
  
As the armoured wagon zoomed down 8th Ave., he glanced outside the window. Police cruisers streamed from every corner. A pair of NYPD helicopters encircled the downtown core. With the NYPD poised to bring down the killer of one of their own, Green nodded confidently.  
  
This thing's gonna be settled in LaGuardia ... one way or another.  
  
[Office of District Attorney Arthur Branch, Manhattan]  
  
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Arthur?" McCoy inquired. When Wallace Johnson escaped the NYPD dragnet in Tribeca, McCoy faced the possibility that the potential witness/accomplice to the Saunders' murder just might disappear through his fingers. He didn't want to admit it, but he would need Branch's political clout to marshal all available resources to apprehend the suspect.  
  
A suspect who had just killed a New York cop.  
  
"What I'm doing, Jack," Branch began, "is covering our collective butts. You chose to keep this an internal, New York City investigation. I signed off on it. We shut out all federal agencies - the JAG corps, the FBI, U.S. Marshals' office - until the last minute. If Johnson gets on that plane ... and god forbid, gets out of the country ... we're gonna be boot-deep in a crapload of dung! But, if I launch a public appeal, bring the feds onto our team, soothe the nerves of all those 9-to-5 workers wondering what the hell's going on in Manhattan ... we can cover our bases. If we catch our suspect, tomorrow's editorials will give us more praise than a Sunday preacher."  
  
McCoy considered his boss' proposal. A press conference - designed to show a united front against a despicable cop-killer - would give the D.A.'s office a chance to deflect criticism about their handling of the Johnson situation, whatever the outcome of the take-down in LaGuardia.  
  
"And if Johnson manages to escape, we're not the only ones on the hook," McCoy observed.  
  
"Precisely," Branch stated. "The press can blame the army for letting an AWOL soldier loose for three years, the feds for inadequate intelligence on Johnson. We'll take some hits - depending on how the next few hours unfold - but they can't hang us alone if we don't catch Johnson."  
  
"Then I wish you well, Arthur," McCoy replied, as he prepared to leave.  
  
"Whoa, hold it there Jack," Branch interrupted. "When I said I was rounding up a posse for this press conference, that means you too! I took the liberty of calling the Big Three networks for an important announcement at One Police Plaza in an hour. I expect to see you there."  
  
McCoy sighed, aware of the political machinations involved in prosecuting one of Wall Street's darlings. He knew why his boss wanted him before the media horde.  
  
To take responsibility in front of the people of New York City.  
  
Jack McCoy had used every legal lever at his disposal to arrest Lex, and charge him with capital murder. And - pending the jury's verdict - to condemn him to a lifetime in prison, or to the executioner.  
  
It was Branch that had to run for re-election, not McCoy ... and Arthur Branch had no intention of risking defeat should the entire case collapse. If Jack McCoy was so eager to put a noose around a Luthor - any Luthor - then he better damn well expect to put his career on the line.  
  
McCoy tugged at his shirt collar. He could feel the noose around his professional neck slowly tighten.  
  
[The Talon, Smallville]  
  
Chloe and Lana rushed to meet Jonathan Kent and Pete as they entered the Talon.  
  
"How's Clark holding up?" Lana wondered.  
  
"He's definitely uncomfortable with the whole situation," Jonathan replied. "Detectives Munch and Tutuola brought Clark to the farmhouse to pick up his things, then caught the morning flight to JFK."  
  
"We just saw him off at Metropolis International," Pete added. "The D.A.'s calling Clark to take the stand." The pit in his stomach rumbled uneasily. Would Clark risk exposing his secret to protect Lex Luthor? Pete glanced nervously at Mr. Kent. They both knew the dangers involved.  
  
Jonathan slumped into a chair. "It's just so frustrating! I don't like the idea of offering up my son to the New York media circus. The whole Luthor angle means every major paper and television station will be covering the trial." Lana placed a cup of coffee in front of him.  
  
"Don't you worry, Mr. Kent," Chloe replied. "Clark's got nothing to hide. As long as he tells the truth, neither the D.A. nor the Big Apple's tabloids will implicate him in Lex's activities."  
  
Jonathan sipped his coffee. "I wish I could be sure of that, Chloe."  
  
Pete checked the TV monitor. "Whoa, check this out! There's a press conference about the Luthor trial!" Everyone hovered around the monitor. On the screen, they could see dozens of cameras and microphones gathered in front of One Police Plaza, NYPD headquarters. The Stars and Stripes fluttered on the flagpoles. An imposing man in a grey suit stepped before the podium.  
  
"That's Arthur Branch," Chloe mentioned. "He's the District Attorney of Manhattan.  
  
Flanking either side of Branch, representatives from city hall, the FBI, U.S. Marshals, US Army and JAG Corps stood at attention - their buttons and badges blazing in the early December sun. Executive D.A. Jack McCoy stood to Branch's right, while Captain Deakins (Major Case Squad) stood to his left in full uniform.  
  
Branch adjusted the microphone, as cameramen focused their lenses.  
  
"New York city councillors, members of federal and state law enforcement agencies, our armed forces, and ladies and gentlemen of the press ..." Branch began. "I come before you today with great sadness. In consultation with the Judge Advocate General's office and federal agencies, the NYPD executed an arrest warrant for a Sergeant (retired) Wallace Johnson of Fort Hood, Texas. Mr. Johnson is wanted for questioning in the death of Chelsea Saunders. During the execution of the warrant, one of New York's Finest - Mike Vanelli, a rookie on the force - was killed..."  
  
The media exploded into a flurry of questions and camera bulb flashes.  
  
"We will take questions in a moment, folks," Branch continued. "The state of New York extends our condolences to Officer Vanelli's family. At this very moment, New York's Finest are tightening a dragnet around the city, with the hopes of bringing this suspect to justice. At this time I would like to introduce you to my subordinate, Jack McCoy, who is prepared to take any questions about the Saunders investigation..."  
  
Chloe, Pete, Lana and Mr. Kent watched the broadcast, as McCoy fielded several questions about the progress of the Luthor trial:  
  
"Is the death penalty still on the table for Lex Luthor?" "Why is news of an alleged accomplice only now surfacing?" "How long did the D.A.'s office know about a possible connection to organized crime?"  
  
McCoy responded to a question. "Lieutenant Van Buren is running the operation, supported by tactical officers from the surrounding boroughs. Off-duty cops are being called to assist. An attachment of the U.S. Marshals' office is already enroute. We will accept nothing less than the swift capture of this man. He cannot escape."  
  
As the cameras panned towards the gathering throng of media, Jonathan Kent walked towards the monitor.  
  
Chloe thought that he might have recognized one of the officials at the conference. "The cop in uniform, Mr. Kent?" she offered. "I think that's Captain Deakins. He's the one who uncovered the Metropolis connection to the Gambino crime family a few years ago."  
  
"He wasn't the one I was looking at," Jonathan replied. Amidst the crowd stood his wife, Martha. She was carefully taking notes. Notes on behalf of her employer, Lionel Luthor. Jonathan was always uneasy about his wife working so closely with the man he despised.  
  
Now, his son was entangled in one of Lex's misdeeds. All he could do was follow the proceedings on television. He could do nothing now to comfort his son, who was mere hours away from the merciless glare of the media. Would D.A. McCoy expose Clark's secret? Lex Luthor had the resources of his family's empire to challenge the press and the prosecutors. Jonathan Kent had neither wealth, nor influence.  
  
Pete noticed Mr. Kent's face. His eyes were bloodshot, his eyelids baggy. He can't be sleeping well - if at all, he thought. From now on, he wouldn't be able to talk to his son until the end of the trial. Sequestered in a Manhattan hotel, Clark would be alone.  
  
"Excuse me," Jonathan hurried towards the exit. He did not want to show Clark's friends how truly afraid he was. "Lana, thank you for the coffee."  
  
As the press conference continued, Pete frowned. He didn't blame the cops or the D.A. for all the anxiety in town. They were only doing their jobs. The only guy responsible for turning the Kents' world upside down, he was convinced, was Lex Luthor.  
  
A few minutes later, Jonathan returned to the Kent farm. He walked over to the pile of logs beside the barn and began to chop wood for the fireplace. He grunted as he swung the axe over his head.  
  
Each blow became an expression of frustration. He swung that axe until he could chop no more. Tired and angry, he slumped on the chopping block and stared at the dirt ground.  
  
He felt helpless.  
  
[Cornwallis Hotel, Manhattan]  
  
Munch and Tutuola escorted Clark to his hotel suite, accompanied by ADA Southerlyn.  
  
"This'll be your crib for the time being, my man," the street-savvy Tutuola replied. Beside the television were stacks of DVDs, a Playstation 2 and a dozen games. "We got uniforms posted on this floor and a squad car outside. You'll be safe here."  
  
"At least the D.A. didn't deprive you of entertainment," Munch noted as he picked up a DVD. "Mariah Carey's 'Glitter'? 'Kangaroo Jack'? On second thought, you're better off playing Solitaire."  
  
Clark sighed. "Are you sure I can't talk to my mom?"  
  
Southerlyn could tell that the young Kent was worried. "Detectives, could I have a moment with Clark?"  
  
"Sure thing, Serena," Munch replied. "We'll grab a cola or something downstairs."  
  
Southerlyn sat beside Clark on the corner of the bed. "My boss, Mr. McCoy, is afraid that any extended contact between you and your mother might be perceived negatively by the jury. He says he doesn't want to risk tainting your testimony."  
  
"But I know Lex had nothing to do with it!" Clark declared. "It's a complete misunderstanding!"  
  
"But you're aware that he was having trouble with that new corporate plaza on Wall Street?" Southerlyn replied.  
  
Clark paced around the hotel room, peering through the curtains. In the distance, he could see Radio City Music Hall. A dusting of snowflakes clung to the window. After-work shoppers were scurrying across the streets. Red, yellow and gold decorations glittered along the storefronts. It was the holiday season.  
  
I should be at home together with my family, he thought. Not here.  
  
"Well, yeah," Clark said. "I know Lex was stressed about the project. He seemed distracted."  
  
"The FBI retrieved most of your old email over the past two weeks," Southerlyn revealed, "Lex mentioned to you that he was having problems with one employee in particular."  
  
Clark nodded reluctantly. "It sounded like a personality conflict to me. I didn't think much of it then."  
  
He changed the topic, as he slumped again on the corner of the bed. "How is my mother doing?"  
  
Southerlyn smiled. He was clearly worried about his mom. "I see Mrs. Kent at the courthouse every day. She's very busy working for the defense. She's doing fine ... she's living in a five-star executive suite on Park Avenue, she has her own driver. Luthor Corp. spared no expense, not surprisingly."  
  
"And how's Lex doing?" Clark asked.  
  
"Doing well, considering how long he's endured prison food," Southerlyn answered. "I'll let him know you're fine."  
  
"Fine?" Clark grumbled. "I'm basically under house arrest, prepared to testify in a trial where my best friend is facing death row. I'm barely coping as it is! I'll be fine when this mess is behind me."  
  
Southerlyn frowned at the outburst. The time for playing the 'surrogate sister' role was over. The prosecution doesn't need Clark's reluctance on the witness stand. She knew she had a job to do.  
  
"I hope you're not having second thoughts, Mr. Kent," Southerlyn cautioned sternly. "Mr. McCoy will stop by later today to prep you for your testimony. He expects you to tell the truth about your communications with Lex. If you choose not to, my boss won't hesitate to charge you with contempt. That means jail! I don't know how much I can emphasize that to you."  
  
"Great," Clark mumbled. "Christmas at Riker's. I doubt Santa makes a stop there."  
  
Later, Southerlyn joined the detectives in the hotel lobby.  
  
"How is young Master Kent doing?" Munch inquired.  
  
"He is as confident in Lex's innocence as Lex himself," Southerlyn grumbled. "... and just as stubborn."  
  
Tutuola's radio crackled. "All available units proceed to LaGuardia Airport," the dispatcher declared, "all units proceed north to LaGuardia. Be advised that suspect Johnson is armed and dangerous. Repeat, armed and dangerous."  
  
"Send our regards to Capt. Cragen," Munch hollered as the detectives scrambled out of the lobby, "Duty calls. He'll have to wait a bit for our Smallville report."  
  
I hope they catch Johnson, Southerlyn thought. We need his testimony to ensure a conviction against Lex. 


	17. CH 17 NEW

NOTE: The story takes place during the holiday season, early Season Two, Smallville. Hence, Lionel Luthor is still "recovering" from his tornado injuries. In the Law and Order universe, events occur while Alex Cabot is still in the D.A.'s office.  
  
[LaGuardia Airport, NYC]  
  
Detective Stabler, along with a dozen uniformed officers, patrolled the departures terminal. If their suspect – renegade Army Ranger Wallace Johnson – was indeed trying to escape to Florida, they would find him here.  
  
A man in a grey hooded sweatshirt tried to duck behind a magazine rack. That only caught Stabler's attention.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," Stabler announced, as he hastened his pace.  
  
The man immediately dropped the magazine he was holding and dashed down the hallway.  
  
Stabler cursed as he sprinted after him. He clicked on his radio. "Captain ... I think we have him."  
  
The suspect stumbled over a large suitcase, startling the middle-aged man who owned it. He quickly scrambled to his feet, but the delay meant that Stabler and half a dozen officers were now closing in.  
  
He ran around a corner, shoving aside passengers and baggage handlers. Somehow, he managed to keep his hood on.  
  
The hooded man spotted a restaurant and raced inside. Now, he was trapped.  
  
He tried to jump over the counter, hoping to escape into the kitchen. Stabler grabbed his arm and tossed him onto a table. Spoons, silverware and a bowl of salad flew in every direction.  
  
Stabler shoved the suspect against the ground. "Wallace Johnson, you're under arrest for the murder of –"  
  
The SVU detective pulled back the hood. "Dammit!" Stabler cursed. "It's not Johnson!" The kid – who appeared to be a wiry, Eminem-wannabe – could be no older than 21.  
  
"Yo, man, I ain't killed nobody!" the kid mumbled. Stabler checked his pockets and found a pouch of marijuana leaves.  
  
Stabler cursed again and shoved the perp towards a pair of officers. "Book him for possession." He clicked on his radio. "Stabler to Cragen. False alarm, I repeat, false alarm."  
  
Outside the entrance to the airport, Cragen surveyed the dragnet that had surrounded the airport. Wallace Johnson would not escape. Half the cops in Manhattan must be in LaGuardia by now, he nodded confidently.  
  
Cragen directed a company of heavily-armed task force officers to patrol the arrivals level. His radio chirped. "Cragen here."  
  
"It's Briscoe," the homicide detective replied. "Green and I are out in the hangars." Sniffer dogs barked in the background.  
  
"If you see anything at all, detective, you call for back-up," Cragen ordered. "We're gonna get this guy one way or another. Fin and Munch are already enroute."  
  
Briscoe peeked into a supply room in the hangar. Nothing unusual.  
  
"The sooner we lock up Johnson in Sing Sing, the better," Briscoe groaned.  
  
Green nodded. "Yeah, the way the trial is going, Lex might end up as his cellmate.  
  
Briscoe snickered at the idea. "The silver-spooned brat and the psychotic Ranger as bunkmates ... wouldn't that be sweet.  
  
At the other end of the tarmac, a lone police helicopter landed. Detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuola ducked their heads as the left the copter.  
  
"See, what did I tell ya," Munch bragged, "that's how you beat rush-hour."  
  
"So where do we begin to search," Tutuola frowned. "He could be anywhere."  
  
Ten feet away, Wallace Johnson – disguised as an airport baggage handler – saw an opportunity. There was only one pilot in the copter. The detectives had not pulled out their sidearms and had turned their backs from him. The younger detective was already several feet away from the older one with the glasses.  
  
Johnson sprinted towards the copter and pulled out his gun.  
  
Tutuola heard a crackle of gravel and spun around, instinctively aiming his own weapon. No!  
  
Wallace Johnson had aimed a gun at his partner's head.  
  
"Hands in the air, officer!" Johnson declared. Tutuola aimed his weapon at the suspect's head.  
  
"There's nowhere to run, Johnson!" Tutuola growled, over the whirr of the copter blades. "The airport's swarming with cops. You pissed them off – icing one of our own! Now unless you wanna leave here in a body bag, you'll drop your weapon. Now!"  
  
Johnson pulled Munch in front of him. "You drop your piece, copper! Or your friend gets it in the head." He shoved the gun's nozzle into Munch's neck.  
  
"Once you get a clear shot, take it, Fin!" Munch barked. "You killed a cop, Wallace. You're as good as dead!"  
  
"I swear to God, I'll kill him!" Johnson replied. He seemed extremely agitated. He knew he was trapped. Anything could happen now.  
  
Tutuola saw the look in Munch's eyes. Even though his partner had a tough exterior, he knew he must be terrified. Johnson had nothing to lose. He had killed a cop. Any court in New York would condemn him to life in prison. Or a lethal injection.  
  
"Drop your weapon. Now!" Johnson ordered.  
  
"Okay, okay," Tutuola slowly placed the gun on the tarmac and stepped away, with his arms in the air.  
  
"Don't –"Munch pleaded, but it was too late. Johnson was now in control of the situation.  
  
"I'm taking this copter now," Johnson stated, while clutching Munch in front of him. He motioned to the copter pilot to open the door. Munch shook his head violently, knowing that if he opened the door, Johnson could escape.  
  
Unfortunately, the young pilot panicked and unlocked the door quickly. Johnson slowly crawled into the copter, then kicked Munch onto the tarmac. The gun was now against the pilot's temple.  
  
"Fly!" Johnson ordered. The pilot had no choice but to comply.  
  
As the copter soared away, Munch casually dusted off his pants. He glared at Fin.  
  
"You shoulda taken the shot when you had the chance," Munch grumbled.  
  
"Well, I figured you didn't want your brains splattered all over LaGuardia!" Tutuola snapped back.  
  
Munch shook his head and clicked his radio. "Cragen, this is detective Munch. We found Johnson –"  
  
"That's great!" Cragen replied. "Where is he?"  
  
"He commandeered a police copter," Munch replied, "He had his piece against my head. I think you better call in the feds. He's ... gone."  
  
Cragen muttered something obscene under his breath. This day couldn't get any worse, he feared.  
  
Now we're all on the hook for this mess. The D.A., the NYPD – everyone.  
  
Heads are gonna roll ...  
  
Over the next 24 hours, the NYPD set up roadblocks in every borough of New York City. State troopers set up checkpoints along the interstate. D.A. Arthur Branch informed the Ontario Provincial Police and the Surete du Quebec – just in case the suspect fled north across the border.  
  
New Jersey state police found a burning chopper a day later. The pilot had been burnt to a crisp. The coroner would later comfirm that the poor fellow was shot once in the temple.  
  
[Office of D.A. Arthur Branch, Manhattan]  
  
On the TV, Executive Assistant D.A. Jack McCoy grimaced at the bad news:  
  
"There have been unconfirmed sightings of suspect Wallace Johnson, wanted in the deaths of NY officer Mike Vanelli and LuthorCorp. employee Chelsea Saunders. He has been allegedly seen in New Jersey, Virginia and South Carolina ..."  
  
"Well, isn't that splendid," Branch remarked sarcastically. "We had him and we let him get away!"  
  
"Arthur, he had a gun to Munch's head," McCoy explained.  
  
"I wish to God that Fin Tutuola had taken the shot," Branch replied. He rubbed his eyes, fatigued by lack of sleep. "As much as people don't like the idea of cops getting shot, they hate the idea of cop-killers on the lam even more."  
  
McCoy sighed, as he turned off the television. "So what are we going to do about it?"  
  
Branch flinched. "I've done my part. I notified the FBI, state authorities from here to Florida and the Mounties. You wanted Lex Luthor's head. This is your mess, Jack. I'm the one who has to face the electorate, whatever happens. It's up to you to save your own skin now. You get that conviction, or there'll be hell to pay."  
  
McCoy stood up, glared at Branch, then stormed out of the office. So that's how it's going to be, he grumbled to himself. The governor will blame the D.A.'s office, the D.A. will blame the cops.  
  
There's no doubt someone at One Police Plaza will be sacrificed, for nothing else but to steer the blame away from the mayor's office, the D.A. and Albany.  
  
McCoy tugged at his collar, which now seemed to strangle him. Either Lex Luthor goes down ...  
  
Or I will.  
  
[Courthouse, Manhattan, NYC]  
  
Stabler stepped out of the courtroom. Yet another day on the stand in the abuse trial of NY state representative Connors. His partner, Olivia Benson, couldn't persuade the Nichols girl to testify against her attacker. Without her testimony, Connors' defense was putting forth a motion to dismiss. Down the hall, assistant D.A. Alex Cabot was answering questions from the media.  
  
Everything seemed to be going wrong, he thought. Wallace Johnson was gone to who knows where. The Connors case was falling apart before his eyes. He just had another heated argument with his wife. Instead of sleeping on the couch, he chose to go back to the SVU offices to prepare for today's triad proceedings.  
  
Nothing he did seemed to make a difference. Johnson would go underground, never to resurface. Connors, that sick bastard, would buy his way out of a conviction.  
  
All because of Luthor, Stabler concluded. His money, influence and hardball tactics were succeeding. The detective despised this feeling of helplessness. He could do absolutely nothing to change it.  
  
Cabot finished her scrum with the media and returned to Stabler. "The judge won't dismiss the charges," she insisted. "We still have witnesses."  
  
"It's over, why don't you accept it, Alex," Stabler grumbled. "The defense will tear apart our witnesses based on their drug use. Connors will walk, since he's so cosy with those jackasses in Albany and Metropolis."  
  
"Elliot, if you think I can't do my job," Cabot scowled, "maybe you should withdraw from the case! Detective Benson can take the stand in your place!"  
  
Stabler shrugged. "That's the best idea you've had all day." Then, he spotted a pair of well-dressed men exiting the conference room to his right.  
  
It was Richard Goldstein, Lex Luthor's attorney. And Lex Luthor. Lex seemed to smirk at him. A taunt, as if he knew that things were going exactly as he had planned. Connors would walk. And so would he.  
  
I'll wipe that smug grin off your face, Stabler snarled to himself.  
  
Something snapped in Stabler's mind. All the tensions of the past few weeks had built up – bottled within him.  
  
They would be unleashed now.  
  
Stabler grabbed Lex by his lapels and shoved him into the wall. He could hear Alex Cabot ordering him to stop, but the rage he was feeling was overwhelming. Even now, it seemed, Lex was laughing at him. Two cops were dead, and he was laughing about it.  
  
Stabler shoved Lex against the wall. "You think it's funny, you arrogant little prick! Two cops are dead and all you can do is laugh!"  
  
Goldstein tried to yank Stabler off of his client, but Stabler gripped Lex's jacket even tighter.  
  
"You need some professional help!" Goldstein remarked, as he struggled with the detective.  
  
"I'll show you some professional help!" Stabler growled, and recoiled his fist – ready to pummel Lex into the wall behind him.  
  
Lex showed no fear and glared directly into Stabler's menacing eyes. "You take that swing Detective Stabler," Lex glowered, "and mark my words: I'll have your badge! You'll be lucky to get a security job at Walmart."  
  
"Stabler!" Cabot barked, as she and Goldstein pulled Stabler away from Lex. Stabler snarled at Lex, as Goldstein quickly pulled his client away.  
  
"You're finished in this city, detective," Goldstein declared. "That's police brutality!"  
  
Stabler wrested himself away from the court officers who had tried to restrain him. Cabot stepped in front of him.  
  
"Guess what? You don't have to withdraw from the case," she announced, "because I'm having you removed. I can't protect you now, Elliot. Whether Cragen wants to save your ass is his business."  
  
Furious, Cabot marched down the hallway. Stabler slumped against the wall. He snapped. He knew it.  
  
He had just destroyed his career. Lex Luthor would have the last laugh after all. 


	18. CH 18 NEW

[Supreme Court, Trial Part 23]  
  
McCoy concluded his questioning of Detective Lennie Briscoe.  
  
"Ms. Saunders had her throat slit," McCoy said. "Surely the killer would have had blood splattered all over him."  
  
"That's true," Briscoe stated matter-of-factly. This routine was old hat to him. "We found maintenance overalls covered in blood in the trash compactor of LuthorCorp.'s Manhattan headquarters. The lab confirmed that the blood was that of Chelsea Saunders."  
  
"Thank you," McCoy replied. Lex's attorney, Goldstein, quickly stood up to rebut.  
  
"Detective," he began, "did the lab find any evidence that would link Lex Luthor to the murder?"  
  
Briscoe sighed in frustration. Stupid lawyers. "A security camera tape shows Lex lurking around the garage level – both before and after the time of the murder. The overalls had the logo of LuthorCorp. on them. Did I mention that the compactor room is on the same floor?!"  
  
"Yes or no, detective," Goldstein replied, "Was there any hard physical evidence linking Lex Luthor to those overalls? DNA? Blood?"  
  
"No," Briscoe stated.  
  
"There are thousands of employees in that building – and any one of them could have done it!" Goldstein declared, then returned to his seat.  
  
McCoy immediately stepped forward. "Detective Briscoe, as one of the most experienced homicide detectives in the 27th Precinct, in your professional opinion – did Lex Luthor have a motive for having Chelsea Saunders killed?"  
  
"Yes," Briscoe replied. "The major case squad examined the package we found at the crime scene. It contained confidential records pertaining to illegal chemical shipments to the Mediterranean."  
  
"Records that, if exposed, could ruin LuthorCorp.?" McCoy asked.  
  
Many people were intimidated by the power and influence of the Luthors. Lennie Briscoe wasn't one of them. He glared directly at Lex. "Yes. They could."  
  
Judge Fitzwater, with what seemed like a permanently furrowed brow, peered over the rim of his glasses. "Do the people have another witness today?"  
  
"Yes, Your Honour," McCoy stated. He motioned to the rear.  
  
Assistant D.A. Southerlyn stood up, accompanied by a tall, dark-haired man.  
  
"The people call Clark Kent to the stand," McCoy announced.  
  
All colour in Lex's face faded away. Martha gasped. Her son would have to tell the truth.  
  
About everything. Even his secret? Martha buried that fear and watched as Clark approached. He wore a crisp charcoal grey suit, blue dress shirt and blood-red tie.  
  
He looked towards his mother and grinned nervously. Lex leaned towards his attorney and seemed to be in a heated discussion about their strategy.  
  
Goldstein stood up. "The defense objects to this witness. It's a callous attempt by the prosecution to sensationalize this trial. Clark Kent wasn't even in the city at the time of Ms. Saunders' death!"  
  
"Our investigation shows that Lex regularly communicated with Clark throughout his stay in New York," McCoy rebutted. "He's Lex's best friend and knew better than anyone Lex's movements in the period prior to – and including – the Saunders killing."  
  
Judge Fitzwater nodded wearily. "Proceed, Mr. McCoy. I don't want this to become a fishing expedition, however."  
  
Once the court officers swore in Clark, he sat in the witness stand.  
  
McCoy began by asking Clark about his family, his school, the names of his friends – even about his farming chores. This wasn't the grilling Clark had anticipated.  
  
"You're a pretty smart kid, right?" McCoy asked.  
  
Lex's attorney stood up. "Relevance, Your Honour?"  
  
"I'll allow it," the judge stated, but pointed firmly at Jack. "—for now."  
  
"I'm just a conscientious student, that's all," Clark replied.  
  
"In fact," McCoy continued, "in a recent statewide exam, you scored in the top two percentile."  
  
"Yes," Clark stated, unsure why Mr. McCoy was asking him about school.  
  
McCoy paused, as if he was collecting his thoughts. Southerlyn called him over. "Just ask him about his emails to Lex, that's all he knows," she urged.  
  
"He's hiding something ... I know it," McCoy insisted. He had no intention of handling Lex's best friend with legal kid gloves.  
  
"As one of Clark's closest friends," McCoy began, "you exchanged email with Lex throughout his stay in Manhattan."  
  
"Lex has many friends around the world," Clark replied.  
  
"Our detectives in Smallville checked your computer," McCoy flipped through a dossier, "you have his email in Metropolis, his home computer, his offices in New York, his luxury condo on Park Ave. ... and his chalet in Lake Placid. And phone numbers. Not even Bruce Wayne has this amount of access to a Luthor. It seems to me, Mr. Kent, that you're one of his closest confidants."  
  
Clark hesitated, then looked confidently at Lex. "Yes, I'm a friend of his."  
  
"Friends watch out for each other, especially in a town such as Smallville," McCoy continued.  
  
"Why, yes, you have to," Clark answered, "we're not Metropolis. You have to be able to count on your neighbours."  
  
"Lex was going through some problems at work," McCoy added, not waiting for a reply. "He was having problems with one employee in particular in the weeks prior to Saunders' death."  
  
"Yes," Clark replied. "He said someone was planning to leak confidential information."  
  
"Are those your words – or his?" McCoy demanded.  
  
"I – don't know," Clark seemed nervous. "It was several weeks ago."  
  
"Let me refresh your memory," McCoy pulled out a laminated document. "People's exhibit H1. Email pulled from Clark's computer, dated November 20. 'Let me tell you, Clark, I'd rather be back in Kansas. Everyone's a vulture up here. One of my subordinates threatened to leak confidential information, instead of bringing it up with me first. What I hate most of all is disloyalty.'  
  
Goldstein stood up again. "Your Honour, this email proves nothing! There's no indication the employee mentioned was, in fact, Chelsea Saunders."  
  
McCoy was unfazed, as he pulled out People's Exhibit J2. "You called Lex on the night in question, didn't you?"  
  
"I don't recall," Clark stated. He felt uncomfortable. He wasn't lying. He really couldn't remember if he had talked to Lex that night, that afternoon or the day before.  
  
"In fact, you did," McCoy showed him the phone records, which clearly showed that Clark had called Lex a mere hour before the Saunders killing.  
  
"He told me that he was going to come back to Metropolis for the museum gala," Clark stated.  
  
Now, Clark knew, I'm stretching the truth. While he did talk to Lex about when he was returning, Lex briefly talked about his gripe with a certain junior employee – though unnamed. Clark didn't mention that Lex had put down the receiver during the conversation. He had stepped away from his desk. There were mumbles. Clark's superior hearing had heard part of Lex's conversation with one of his executives.  
  
He didn't hear everything, but he had heard enough. Not even D.A. McCoy's interrogations could pry that information from him.  
  
Lex's words haunted him now: "...if Saunders doesn't watch it, there'll be more than her career on the line ..."  
  
Clark shook his head. "I don't recall." How could he explain that he heard a private conversation? Lex was away from the receiver, though not far enough that Clark couldn't hear Lex's words. Perhaps he misunderstood them?  
  
"Chelsea Saunders was found in a pool of her own blood one hour later," McCoy declared, "and you – who had called him only one hour before her death – are telling this court that Lex Luthor said nothing to you – no indication of his mood, his frame of mind – except the time of his arrival in Metropolis?"  
  
"That's correct," Clark began, but he was already agitated. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. "—what I mean was that, well, you see –"  
  
McCoy tossed the evidence file on the table. Clark was hiding something! This was exactly what I wanted, Jack frowned. Clark was playing the naïve, fish-out-of-water farm boy. There was something odd about this kid from Kansas. Beneath that honest exterior lay something unknown.  
  
Hidden.  
  
Not today, Jack decided, not when all the evidence points to Lex Luthor. If he didn't slit Chelsea's throat, he had someone do it for him. He's a murderer by proxy.  
  
"The people would like to treat Clark Kent as a hostile witness," McCoy announced. Southerlyn was surprised, motioning with her hands that she did not expect this tactic.  
  
"He's badgering the witness!" Goldstein declared. Lex fidgeted with his hands nervously.  
  
"I'm not satisfied with Mr. Kent's answers," the judge stated. "Mr. Kent, might I remind you that you are under oath!"  
  
Clark gulped.  
  
McCoy raised his voice. "On the night in question, did Lex Luthor mention Chelsea in his conversation?"  
  
"No," Clark stated.  
  
"Lex's phone records indicated that he called every important person on his directory. A dozen calls to his attorneys, executives in Manhattan and Metropolis, a blue-chip advertising agency, a Kansas senator. Something must have lit a fire under him ... to send him into such a frenzy. Do you know who the last person he talked to was?"  
  
"No," Clark replied.  
  
McCoy rushed forward to the witness stand. "It was you, Clark Kent. His best friend in the whole world. After he talked to his lawyers, his PR hacks, his cronies – all who were trained to appease the boss. You were the only honest sounding board he had. When you called, he discussed his problems with Chelsea Saunders!"  
  
"No, that's not true!" Clark insisted.  
  
"Oh, come now, Clark," McCoy scoffed, "all your correspondence indicates that you knew of Lex's issues with a disloyal employee. An employee who was about to FedEx damning records to the company ombudsman, who would be forced to hand over information to the authorities. An employee who had retained a lawyer two days before her death, out of fear of becoming a scapegoat to Luthor arrogance, Luthor's political interference, his covert chemical arms trading, his --"  
  
"Your Honour, he's on a soapbox now!" Goldstein announced. Lex clenched his teeth. He could barely contain his anger. Jack McCoy was crucifying Clark on the stand, just because he was his friend.  
  
"Your question, Mr. McCoy, and make it quick!" the judge ordered. Martha held her hand up to her mouth in horror. She feared that her son might admit something he could not take back.  
  
McCoy piled the phone and email records in front of Clark. "Are you prepared to tell this jury, under oath, that after two weeks of phone conversations and email correspondence with Lex Luthor that you knew absolutely nothing about Lex's frame of mind on the night of Chelsea Saunders' killing?"  
  
Clark took a deep breath as McCoy placed the last record atop the witness stand. The heavy file slammed onto the stand, its echo reminding him of the Luthors' track record of scandal cover-ups.  
  
"That's not what I'm saying –"Clark replied in a louder voice.  
  
"On the night in question, you knew – you KNEW – Lex was going to take action against Chelsea Saunders?"  
  
"Well, I felt that –", Clark began, but McCoy was relentless. McCoy didn't know if Clark knew anything, but his instinct told him to hammer away. Destroy Lex's only source of loyalty before his eyes, and Luthor would surely break.  
  
"It's a simple question, Clark," McCoy barked angrily, "You're one of the smartest students in Kansas! Did you know that Lex was going to act against Ms. Saunders ... not next week, not next month, but that very day?"  
  
"Clark Kent, your answer," the judge persisted. "Answer the question, or I will hold you in contempt."  
  
"Yes, I did!" Clark blurted. "But not murder! You don't know Lex! He's not like that!"  
  
"One hour after your final call," McCoy collected the piles of records, "Chelsea Saunders was found dead in LuthorCorp.'s Park Avenue condo. He was your friend, but it seems he misled you, too, Mr. Kent."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Kent, you may step down," the judge nodded. "This court will recess for lunch."  
  
Clark seemed flustered as he slowly stepped down. Martha ran towards him and hugged him.  
  
"You did nothing wrong, Clark," she insisted. Clark looked towards Lex. His friend didn't look back. Lex's face seemed vacant. Unfeeling. Was he mad that his best friend sold him out on the witness stand?  
  
But I didn't, Clark believed. Mr. McCoy twisted everything I said to suit the people's case. I was played for a fool. He wanted to use my testimony all along to paint Lex as a calculated killer.  
  
Goldstein and Lex called for a meeting with McCoy, who was anticipating a futile attempt at a plea bargain. Even if Wallace Johnson was the hired killer, Lex Luthor must have ordered Saunders' killing. Bank records, once found, could not lie. Southerlyn had taken Clark back to the hotel, so Jack was alone in the conference room with the defense.  
  
"Jack, we need to talk –"Goldstein began, but Lex pushed him aside.  
  
"You have a pretty big chip on your shoulder, Mr. McCoy!" Lex snarled. "I'm not one to let things rest. I intend to launch a multi-million dollar lawsuit against the NYPD, the city and the D.A.'s office for malicious prosecution and police brutality. I can deal with whatever baggage you allege to have against our family. But no one treats my friend the way you just did!"  
  
McCoy ignored the outburst. "Mr. Goldstein, you're wasting your time. I don't need a plea bargain any more. Threats won't change the jury's mind either!"  
  
"I'm moving to have Clark's testimony stricken from the record," Goldstein continued. "Your grandstanding won't convince the jury that you have any evidence against Lex – with or without those bloody overalls!"  
  
"All I need is one strand of hair, one drop of blood from Wallace Johnson," McCoy declared smugly, "and your client can bid Metropolis goodbye forever. Sing Sing will be Luthor's HQ for life!"  
  
"Put me on the stand," Lex demanded. "Put me on the stand, Mr. Goldstein."  
  
"Lex, that's not a good idea," Goldstein pleaded with his client, "the prosecution will do to you what they did to Clark!"  
  
Lex would not relent. He stared directly at McCoy's hardened eyes, then turned to his attorney. "Just put me on the stand. It's neither Clark's responsibility nor duty to answer for my actions. It's mine. I'll put this ridiculous theory to rest once and for all!"  
  
Goldstein gathered his files and escorted Lex from the room.  
  
"By the way, Mr. McCoy," Lex mentioned, "I'd suggest you re-assess why you're so determined to convict me. Somehow I don't think Truth, Justice and the American way are the only values at play here. Arthur Branch should look over his shoulder. It seems I'm not the only one trying to scale the Big Apple's career ladders." They quickly closed the door behind them.  
  
McCoy huffed, bored with Lex's spoiled-brat dramatics. Lex was backed in a corner. If he dared to take the stand, McCoy had enough ammunition to tear Lex Luthor apart before the jury. The Club Zero incident – now opened by the Kansas A.G. – was just one of many questionable events. The county sheriff had dozens of reports about Luthor involvement in many mysterious accidents and deaths.  
  
Perception was everything in the media capital of America.  
  
McCoy wanted to do justice – for Ms. Saunders' sake. But he was quietly gleeful about the political capital he could gain from a Luthor conviction.  
  
'LUTHOR GUILTY OF MURDER: MCCOY PONDERS SENATE SEAT'. A future headline, he imagined.  
  
The possibilities were endless ... if he got the conviction.  
  
Lex Luthor was right about one thing, McCoy considered. Arthur Branch should look over his shoulder. 


	19. CH 19 NEW

[The Torch office, Smallville]  
  
Pete turned off the television.  
  
"So the Luthors are gonna sue New York City, the NYPD and anyone even remotely connected to the trial," he grumbled. "They think that'll scare the D.A. into settling the case out of court."  
  
Chloe was distracted by something she was reading online. "Hmm? Oh, I don't think Jack McCoy is backing off this case. The reputation of the D.A.'s office is riding on a conviction."  
  
Pete couldn't help it, but he felt alarmed by the D.A.'s hardcore legal tactics. Mr. McCoy managed to portray Clark as someone less-than-honest. That was just absurd. But it didn't help that Clark actually considered Lex Luthor as a close buddy.  
  
Chloe sensed that Pete was agitated. "Mr. McCoy got what he wanted from Clark. I hope that means he won't call him back to the stand. As far as I'm concerned, the D.A. crossed the line by twisting Clark's words to suit his case."  
  
Pete sighed. "This is major league stuff. All we can do is watch. I just don't like being on the sidelines, y'know?"  
  
"Tell me about it," Chloe agreed. While Pete skimmed through the Daily Planet's coverage of the trial, she continued her search of Planet's online archives.  
  
She paused at a headline, dated 1986. 'U.S. SUPPLIED NICARAGUAN REBELS'  
  
"The Iran-Contra affair ..." Chloe mumbled to herself.  
  
"Uh oh," Pete grinned. "I can hear those gears turning in your brain."  
  
"The U.S. government funneled arms, funds and supplies covertly to Contra paramilitaries trying to overthrow the leftist Sandinista government in the 1980's," Chloe explained. She clicked another page. "Here's another article from November 1988." A picture showed Lionel shaking hands with a South Korean general and a US major.  
  
"So, Lionel was a supplier to the Pentagon and CIA during the Cold War. That's not news." Pete observed.  
  
Chloe shook her head to unrattle the cobwebs in her head. "It's the package. The package those NYPD detectives found near Chelsea Saunders' dead body. Records of questionable chemical shipments. So far, there's no proof they were to be used for anything other than farm fertilizer for our new allies behind the Iron Curtain."  
  
"What is it in that package, Lionel Luthor, that cost Ms. Saunders her life?" Chloe pondered aloud. If her murder was indeed Luthor-directed, what secret was Chelsea willing to die for? Perhaps combined, those chemical shipments could create weapons of mass destruction. With the Cold War over, LuthorCorp.'s military division needed new sources of revenue.  
  
Lionel was a snake, Chloe thought, but was he content doing Uncle Sam's bidding behind a corporate shroud? Lionel sought glory, a kind of secret glory he once tasted as an old cold warrior. But now? The world had changed. Fighting the reds -- that avenue was drying up already.  
  
Did Lionel Luthor actually perceive himself as a self-styled star-spangled, gun-running American hero, answerable only to his own warped concept of patriotic duty? If not Lionel, then could Lex ...? The mere thought was not only ridiculous, but disturbing.  
  
Or as Pete would put it, Captain America, he ain't.  
  
[Department of Homeland Security, Washington. D.C.]  
  
The colonel was a patriot. No soldier in this man's army would say otherwise.  
  
The colonel was a junior lieutenant when he rescued a platoon of GIs from a Viet Cong ambush during the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, 1968. He would receive a Purple Heart for doing his duty ... and a captain's rank for sticking to the party line.  
  
He served his country over the decades: South America, Angola, Iran, Grenada, eastern Europe, ... and that's not including other places no one in America could know about.  
  
The colonel was the Pentagon's chief liaison for the department. He enjoyed his work at first. He was doing a soldier's duty: protecting vital government buildings, senior staff and VIPs. But when the media focused their attention to other things, the spotlight shifted away from his work.  
  
He had his eyes on a real job. He wanted to be involved in this upcoming war in Iraq. Not as a bureaucrat in an olive-green uniform, but as a commander.  
  
He wanted a general's rank. He deserved it. But Washington was as slimy and dangerous as any hellhole he had marched in. These white-collared penguins bobbed their heads to whoever dangled the appropriate bait their way.  
  
The colonel didn't want to play that game. It was beneath him. But he had a Purple Heart, had defended America's interests in her darkest hour and kept the party line. Their liberty was at his expense. They owed him.  
  
Don't ask, don't tell was the unwritten road to favour in the White House. The colonel made many friends here. Influential lobbyists, corporate tycoons, congressmen – they all had the colonel's number. Favours have been exchanged, contracts tendered. He knew that a general's star was within his grasp.  
  
Favours have to be repaid, however, and he knew he owed some very important people a favour or two.  
  
He followed the fiasco surrounding former US Army Ranger Wallace Johnson. Both the feds and the MPs were searching for him. He's gone, the colonel grinned. They won't find him. A commanding officer knew his former subordinate very well.  
  
A phone call interrupted his thoughts. "Liaison office, this is Colonel —" the colonel answered.  
  
"Spare me the pleasantries," the voice on the other line insisted. There was a cough. "Excuse me. I'm sure you've seen what our good friend got himself into."  
  
"They won't find him," the colonel stated. "He knows his work."  
  
The other voice was enraged. "He killed a rookie cop and an NYPD pilot! That is not what we had planned."  
  
"In his eyes, they were the enemy," the colonel replied. "He's a trained killer. Once that switch goes on, you can't shut it off. He wasn't properly de-programmed after his tour. He was absent without leave, remember?. You knew the risks."  
  
"Well, the risks are even higher now, aren't they," the voice noted. "If Mr. Johnson were to be captured alive, he could expose all that we've done."  
  
The colonel paused. The Russians claimed to be friends now, but the game continued. This time, drug lords and terrorists took up the enemy's banner. Duty calls. A patriot's work was rarely easy. That is the difference between those who sacrifice to defend freedom, and those who make no such sacrifice.  
  
"We did all those things to defend the liberty of the United States of America!" the colonel declared. "And I'll be damned if I'll let those yellow politicians put the safety of this nation at risk again!"  
  
"On that, we are in agreement," the voice replied. "Mr. Johnson knows much. What he knows cannot – must not – get out to the public. America is poised to take on Saddam's Iraq without our usual allies. If our friend were to expose what he knows –"  
  
The colonel grunted. "—that knowledge would divide the nation. This country cannot sustain another crisis, not now when war is at hand. We must remain united."  
  
"Our friend knew the risks," the voice continued. "He failed. And you know what to do. Once it is done, I will do everything in my power to get you a seat at the table when the shooting starts in the Gulf."  
  
"I'm glad we've reached an understanding, –"the colonel replied, but the phone had hung up.  
  
The colonel straightened out his uniform, walked to the next room and dialed another phone.  
  
"Yes, sergeant, get me Norfolk," the colonel remarked.  
  
He wanted to believe that what was about to happen would serve the interests of homeland security, his President and the people of the United States.  
  
This was a soldier's duty. And he would be a general in Uncle Sam's army.  
  
The owner of that voice on the other line hung up the receiver, then coughed again. Even patriots get sick.  
  
He smirked. "I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds."  
  
[SVU, One Police Plaza, New York City]  
  
Captain Cragen stabbed his finger in the air, towards Stabler.  
  
"You're off the Nichols case, effective immediately," he growled. "Olivia will be taking point on this case."  
  
"Lex had it coming!" Stabler snapped. "What – we're just going to let him buy Connors' freedom, and his own! If the D.A. did their jobs –"  
  
"Alex Cabot was doing her job, Elliot," Cragen replied, "and you screwed it up! Now that the Luthors are going ahead with this lawsuit, the mayor's crapping bricks, the chief is crying for blood ... and you know what that means: heads are going to roll."  
  
Stabler yanked off his holster bag and dangled it from his index finger. "Then here's my sidearm. Suspend me if you have to."  
  
Cragen sighed. "It's gone beyond that, Elliot. Mayor Bloomberg's already called for your badge. The chief has let it be known that someone at NYPD is going to answer for this mess."  
  
Stabler seemed disoriented. Everything had happened so fast. He had lost his cool. He felt that the entire justice system was losing control of the Nichols case ... and Lex's own trial seemed to confirm that money does indeed buy justice. It felt so good to slam that arrogant son-of-a-bitch against the wall.  
  
"Are you asking me to resign from the force?" Stabler inquired.  
  
Cragen paced around his desk. "It's not up to you anymore. Look, you and I know this can't end well for anyone. The powers-that-be want their mea culpas. I'm running out of options. Help me out here, Elliot! The chief and I agree: you're under a lot of stress, you haven't taken any time off for ages. I can call Liz Olivet for an appointment, Maybe you and her could –"  
  
Stabler frowned and shook his head in disgust. "And let the department shrink mess around with my head?! No thanks! Suspend me if you have to, but no one's going to tell me I'm losing it. Because I'm not!"  
  
"It's your only lifeline, Stabler," Cragen announced. The mayor's office wanted a scapegoat, someone to steer the public's focus away from Luthor ties to city hall. A loose cannon with a sidearm seemed to fit the bill. The SVU captain was not going to go along with that scheme willingly.  
  
"No one needs to know about it but me," Cragen pleaded. "All I'll enter in your personal file is that it's an 'administrative leave, without pay'. It might only take a few days ..."  
  
Stabler sat on the edge of the desk. "And if I don't go along with this?"  
  
Cragen looked directly at the detective. "The chief is prepared to take your badge, Elliot. You manhandled Lex Luthor in the media capital of the country. He's got ties from Wall Street to Albany, and beyond. No matter how right you feel you are, Luthor and his allies will paint you as an out- of-control cop who's not fit to wear the uniform. I don't buy that, but the average joe reading the Luthor tabloids could."  
  
Stabler was tempted to tell Cragen, the chief ... hell, even the mayor himself ... to stick it where the sun don't shine. But he needed to salvage his professional reputation. He had a family: a loving wife, four kids ...  
  
Their father was not a crazy cop. He was a cop that needed to regain his purpose again. And that was to help those who couldn't help themselves.  
  
"Call Dr. Olivet," Stabler muttered hesitantly. He felt defeated. If Olivet found him to be a loose cannon, she could recommend indefinite suspension. Or dismissal.  
  
"We'll set things right, Elliot," Cragen offered.  
  
As he walked through the SVU offices, Detective Benson stopped him.  
  
"Elliot, I heard. I'm so sorry," she said. "What did Cragen tell you?"  
  
Stabler paused. It was so humiliating. "I'm off the Nichols case. I'm officially on-leave."  
  
Across the hall, he saw D.A. Cabot walking towards the exit. He was about to rush outside to apologize to her, but Olivia held him back.  
  
"Don't bother," she replied. "Alex thinks you've torpedoed her chances of winning this case. Branch just chewed her ear out this morning. You're the last person she wants to talk to right now."  
  
Stabler observed the buzzing activity around him. Two uniforms hauled a suspect into an interrogation room. Score one for the good guys, he thought. Fin and Munch had been grilled about Johnson's incredible escape from the airport. Now, they were grilling Connors' former business partners. Maybe they'll get a break. Just one break, and we'll nail that slimy bottom-feeder for good.  
  
In the distance, sirens wailed. I'm a New York cop, he mused. This is my job. What I live for. And now my life is being torn from me.  
  
"I'm sorry, Olivia," Stabler sniffed. "It's my fault." He stormed out of the building. He thought of his beautiful kids and a future that was at risk.  
  
A tear welled in his eye. He couldn't bear to face his partner now. 


	20. CH 20 NEW

[Supreme Court, Trial, Part 38]  
  
Goldstein, Lex's attorney, completed his questioning of the Crime Scene Unit technician, a 20-something Latino.  
  
"So the hair follicle you discovered on the bloodied overalls belonged to this AWOL soldier, Wallace Johnson?"  
  
"That's correct, sir," the technician replied.  
  
Goldstein turned to the jury. "This soldier – who I should add is currently on the lam – was but one of a virtual army of 60 part-time security personnel hired by Luthor Corp., out of at least a dozen firms in the City of New York." He turned again to the technician. "So there is no physical evidence linking Lex Luthor to the crime?"  
  
"Well, no," the technician answered, "but –"  
  
"Thank you, that's all," Goldstein concluded dismissively as he took his seat again. The CSU technician was excused from the stand.  
  
"Does the defendant plan to take the stand at this point?" the judge asked.  
  
"No. The defense rests, your Honour," Goldstein stated. He managed to convince Lex not to take the stand. There were too many sordid tales in Lex's youth that Jack McCoy could unearth. Those bloodied overalls may have Johnson's DNA, he believed, but nothing linked Lex to it. Clark's testimony -- though unnerving -- was not enough to tie Lex to murder.  
  
Lex glanced behind him at Martha, who was assigned there as Luthor Corp.'s observer. She didn't like the role she had to play as Lionel's corporate snoop. But she didn't believe Lex was guilty. If he had to be faulted, it was in not applying his infamous attention to detail to the hiring process. A Luthor would have immediately weeded out bad apples who could harm the family empire. A soldier on the run – with no loyalty to person or country – could hardly be trusted with the security of Luthor property. How did Wallace Johnson slip through the rigid employee screening?  
  
Martha offered a comforting smile to the accused. What more could I do, she feared. Lex was at the condo during the timeframe of the murder. Apparently, there was a motive. Something about chemical shipments.  
  
Then D.A. McCoy and Ms. Southerlyn arrived. Martha was still disturbed that the D.A. used Clark as a trial tactic: to cast doubt on Lex's claim that he had no vested interest in whatever Chelsea Saunders knew about those shipments. Clark might have known Lex was irritated at a disloyal employee, but there's no way he would lie about a murder.  
  
Unfortunately, 'thou shalt not kill' was one commandment the Luthors could break – if the stakes were high enough.  
  
Judge Fitzwater adjusted the spectacles on his nose. "Do the people intend to call another witness today?" he inquired.  
  
Southerlyn looked at McCoy, who seemed to be focused on the wall behind the judge.  
  
Jack paused. He had called all the witnesses he had wanted. The condo staff, Luthor Corp. employees, the homicide detectives and the forensics experts. Today was a good day. People could lie; science could not. That strand, that piece of hair – now confirmed by the CSU – held the irrefutable DNA link to Wallace Johnson, Luthor Corp. security guard.  
  
Clark Kent's testimony was more of a gamble. He knew that he risked the ire of the Luthors and their political allies. Both Arthur and Serena had cautioned him about the dangers of coming down hard on Lex's best friend.  
  
It was regrettable, but justified in his mind. Lex Luthor – with his father's bottomless legal funding – was going to buy his freedom.  
  
Serena did the state's work admirably when she traveled to Smallville, a middle-American town with supposedly middle-American values. But it was a company town, he scoffed, and that company was Luthor Corp. A community bonded by a web of lies. The affidavits of Clark's friends all alluded to this: from Lana's account of her business dealings with Lex, to Pete's account of Lionel Luthor's abusive influence in town.  
  
"He's bad news," Pete had proclaimed in his affidavit. Even the town mayor was in Lionel's pocket.  
  
And Chloe Sullivan, intrepid reporter of the school paper. He had laughed when he read about the so-called Wall of Weird. He couldn't believe that she accepted some of that UFO stuff as plausible scientific theory.  
  
"These events all have one common denominator: the green meteor rocks that showered the town over a decade ago," she had reported clinically.  
  
Meteor rocks seemed to be around these inexplicable accidents. That was true. But she missed one thing. Jack had read the archived stories of the Smallville Ledger. Clark Kent's name showed up. Often. He was known to the local sheriff.  
  
Did that make him a criminal, he wondered. No, it didn't, though it would be tempting to dig further into the Kent family history.  
  
Clark Kent's repeated involvement in Smallville's intrigues did cast doubt on his credibility. Goldstein was wrong: Clark was not some country bumpkin who knew little about the urban jungle. He was a smart kid who was loyal to his friend. Despite Serena's observation that Jonathan Kent was a man of integrity, Clark chose friendship with Lex Luthor. Why would Clark place his trust in a Luthor, whose family Kent Sr. is supposed to detest?  
  
That was why he ignored Serena's suggestion that he limit his questions to Clark's correspondence with Lex. Jack cornered him on the stand. Clark flubbed his answers, giving the impression that he knew more than he was letting on. And it wasn't just a case of nerves. He was the last person Lex talked to before Chelsea was killed.  
  
The renegade soldier may have slashed the victim, Jack grimaced, but it was Lex who must have executed the plot and the cover-up.  
  
"Jack?" Serena prodded. McCoy put aside his thoughts and focused on the proceedings once more.  
  
McCoy adjusted his jacket and stood up. "The people rest, your Honour."  
  
He felt he could trace every thread of a Luthor conspiracy to hide its shadowy secrets. Interpol had raided a cargo vessel off the coast of Greece this weekend. It was a joint operation with the FBI – and Major Case Squad Detective Alexandra Eames. They uncovered high volumes of chemicals destined for eastern Europe, but it was too early to tell if it was merely fertilizer. Time was still on their side.  
  
Clark's testimony, while dramatic, was not the coup de grace. They had the murder weapon, the bloodied overalls and were hunting for the accomplice. The FedEx package held the motive.  
  
It was the deathstroke -- and Lex Luthor knew it, McCoy nodded.  
  
Chelsea Saunders would not take her secret to the grave, if the Major Case Squad had anything to say about it.  
  
Judge Fitzwater frowned, apparently weary of the trial's complexities. "This court will resume tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp for closing arguments."  
  
With the pound of a gavel, the trial day was over. Martha immediately rushed towards McCoy.  
  
"Clark knew nothing about a murder, Mr. McCoy," Martha insisted.  
  
"This is highly improper, Mrs. Kent," McCoy replied. "You're on retainer for the defense. I'm not at liberty to discuss anything about your son."  
  
"I just want to know if Clark is doing alright," Martha demanded.  
  
Southerlyn interrupted. "Clark's doing fine. He's at the hotel. The last time I was there, he was at his hotel suite playing some NBA video game with Fin Tutuola. He'll be alright, Mrs. Kent."  
  
Serena wanted to believe that Clark was as honest and virtuous as his parents believed him to be. She sensed no hidden agenda from either of the Kent parents, although they were reserved about Clark's personal life. Was he a good kid led astray by the vile Lex Luthor, as suggested by a Gotham Post editorial? Or was he an intelligent, above-average young man who was prepared to lie under oath to protect his best friend?  
  
We've done our job, she thought. After closing arguments, the jury will decide the fate of Lex Luthor.  
  
[Major Case Squad, One Police Plaza, NYC]  
  
McCoy entered Captain James Deakins' office. D.A. Carver and Detective Goren were already there.  
  
"So, how goes the battle of wills with Lex Luthor?" Carver inquired.  
  
"The Luthors are suing everyone except the hot dog vendors, it seems." McCoy began. "How good it turns out depends on what you have," McCoy began. "It'll either be close – or a slam dunk."  
  
Goren carried a large stack of files, then placed it on a chair beside McCoy.  
  
"Those, Mr. McCoy, are the shipping manifests and inventories of all Luthor- owned or affiliated vessels that embarked from the Port of New York over the past twelve months," Goren revealed. "I took the liberty of annotating the files of those ships that carried chemicals, which could be used to manufacture WMDs – if combined in the proper quantities. No confirmations yet, but we're working on it."  
  
"Is that all?" McCoy grinned, clearly impressed with Goren's investigative abilities.  
  
"Did you know Luthor subsidiaries have warehouses throughout eastern Europe?" Goren added. "While Lex was holed up in one miserable boarding school after another, Lionel was doing his patriotic duty marketing American capitalism to partners behind the Iron Curtain."  
  
McCoy grunted. "I bet that's not all he was marketing for Uncle Sam."  
  
Goren pulled out another file. "The feds dropped that one off today. One vessel, the Artemis, paid a visit to Morocco, enroute to Albania. When Interpol caught it last year off the Sicilian coast, they found a shipload of Kalashnikov rifles. Lionel's partners had them made for, like, $20 each in North Africa and were shipping them to parties unknown. No questions asked."  
  
"We've notified the U.S. Attorney," Carver stated. "As you can see, Ms. Saunders opened up a thousand dirty little secrets for us. Get that conviction, Jack, and we will do our best to bring Luthor Corp. to its knees."  
  
Lionel would answer for his global arms merchandising, McCoy thought. But that fact wouldn't help Chelsea Saunders' family – if the jury had any doubt about Lex's guilt.  
  
***  
  
Governor Pataki had lifted the moratorium on the death penalty. The first man condemned to death would set an example. A warning to future offenders.  
  
Lex Luthor found himself at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, New York In his orange prison uniform – the paper pajamas – Lex Luthor walked through the hallway with his arms and ankles in shackles.  
  
"Dead man walking," the prison guard declared.  
  
Death by lethal injection was the sentence. Lex still couldn't believe it. Guilty on all counts.  
  
In the viewing gallery were the execution's witnesses. Detectives Briscoe and Green, who had found Chelsea Saunders' bloodied body so many months ago. D.A. Arthur Branch, who would ride this conviction to another electoral victory. And his supplicants: D.A. Serena Southerlyn, and Jack McCoy. Mrs. Saunders, the young woman's mother, sat there stone-faced.  
  
Clark Kent, his best friend, seemed to be in denial. He couldn't believe Lex was going to die.  
  
McCoy got exactly what he wanted. Lex grimaced. He was set up. He knew it! This was the result his father had expected.  
  
No -- wanted. He would take the fall for his father's transgressions, while his father continued to reap the rewards of his illicit business practices.  
  
As he was being strapped down onto the gurney, the prison chaplain tried to console the condemned man.  
  
"Do you have any last words, my son?" the chaplain asked.  
  
"I'm innocent! I didn't kill Chelsea Saunders!" Lex pleaded.  
  
"Some words from the holy book to prepare you for the next world," the chaplain replied. Instead of sympathy, the chaplain's face appeared to be filled with hate. 'And I looked and behold a pale horse, and his name was Death. And Hell followed with him."  
  
Lex struggled on the gurney, but the fasteners on his arm were too tight.  
  
"I didn't kill her!" he yelled.  
  
Briscoe hovered beside him. "They all say that. She died because of you. You knew what your father was capable of. You did nothing. You might as well have slit her throat yourself."  
  
"That's not true!" Lex shook violently, but he couldn't break free.  
  
"You should have taken the deal, Lex," McCoy announced, as he paced around the gurney. "Twenty-five at Sing Sing would have kept you alive."  
  
Lex tried to yank his arm free, but it was no use.  
  
"You killed my daughter, you son-of-a-bitch!" Mrs. Saunders screamed into his ear. "She had everything to live for. And you let it happen!" Beside her, D.A. Southerlyn shook her head in disappointment.  
  
"Ms. Southerlyn, you've been to Smallville," Lex blurted, "you've seen what my father is like. You know Clark. I would never jeopardize my friendship with him. You believe me, don't you?"  
  
Serena appeared to understand. "I know you're innocent, Lex." The executioner wheeled a tray of lethal needles towards him.  
  
"But ... why?" Lex demanded. Clark appeared beside him. Finally, Lex hoped. Someone who cares about me.  
  
"Because you're a Luthor," Clark stated harshly. "Born to be evil. My dad is right. There's no hope for you now. Everything has a cost. You're going to die for your family's crimes. Be a man about it."  
  
Clark's callousness shocked Lex, as he struggled with the fasteners on his arms.  
  
"I'm not the most religious person," Southerlyn admitted, "but I will pray for the repose of your soul. Perhaps, someday, you'll find peace."  
  
Then they left. Time to execute his sentence.  
  
The needle, with its poisonous cocktail, entered his arm. Lex felt his pulse race. Faster. Faster. He was sweating. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. The poison sailed through his arteries and engulfed his heart muscles. They seized. Cardiac arrest. Flatline.  
  
Lex, still in his orange jumpsuit, found himself in a tunnel. He moved towards the light.  
  
He reached the end, and found himself in a dark room.  
  
Someone lit a candle. The illumination revealed a weathered face: Lionel Luthor.  
  
"Let me guess," Lex began. "You're some manifestation of my mortal fears and torments. A hallucination."  
  
"Well, yes and no," Lionel answered. "I represent your past torments. But, rest assured, you are dead."  
  
Lex laughed. "So this is Hell? Where's the guy with the pitchforks? Do I get my own suite, or am I rooming with Brutus and Judas Iscariot?"  
  
"Your fate, Alexander Joseph Luthor," Lionel cackled, "is to spend an eternity with that which you despise most. Those parts of you that you claim to despise. Those values or sins that you adopted from your dear father." He began to walk away.  
  
"Wait," Lex insisted. "I thought I was going to be stuck here forever with you."  
  
"You're not so lucky, Lex," Lionel muttered. "You knew you were always damned, in spite of your pitiful attempts to 'do good'. It's what you are, what you've become. That's what you hate most. Now you can spend a thousand millennia pondering it. On your own."  
  
Then he was in the dark. Alone.  
  
Forever.  
  
No, he panicked. "No!!"  
  
He awoke. It was a dream. He was still in his cell at Rikers Island. Not hell, but close enough.  
  
"It's okay, Lex," Martha shook him awake. "It was only a dream. You should get something to eat."  
  
"It's time for the closing arguments," Goldstein replied. "You're not finished yet."  
  
Within days, Lex would learn his fate. Wallace Johnson is free, he frowned, and I might answer for his crimes.  
  
He rubbed his weary eyes. "Then why do I get the feeling I've got courtside seats to an execution?" 


	21. CH 21 NEW

[The Talon, Smallville, Thursday December 12, 2002]  
  
Lana Lang wiped the counter of the coffee bar. Chloe was actually out today reporting for the school paper. The Crows' volleyball team was battling the rival Fawcett City Lightning in a high school tournament.  
  
She couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork, her job or anything going on in town this week. Clark was made to look like a liar in the Luthor trial thanks to that smug D.A., Jack McCoy.  
  
She really wanted to believe that Clark knew absolutely nothing about Lex and/or any connection to the murder of Chelsea Saunders. But two facts were irrefutable.  
  
According to the Daily Planet, phone records indicated that Clark was the last person Lex talked to. Within an hour of that call, Chelsea was dead. She wouldn't put it above Lex to mislead Clark. But murder? Lex may have a faulty moral compass, but that just made him imperfect. Not a criminal.  
  
"Earth to Lana," Pete snapped his fingers. "For a moment there, I thought you might be having a meteor-caused dizzy spell."  
  
"Oh, hi Pete," Lana grinned. "It's the Luthor trial. I can't believe Clark would know anything about the Saunders killing. Or if he did, he would never keep it under wraps – even if Lex is his close friend."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," Pete stated. "The D.A. didn't have to prove that Clark knew everything. He just had to imply that Clark knew 'something'."  
  
Lana turned to Clark's best friend. "So do you think Clark knows something about all this?"  
  
Pete hesitated. Clark was not a liar, he thought. But he is too trusting. If Lex somehow won over his confidence ...  
  
Lex Luthor's influence over Clark seemed to be growing steadily. With each passing day, Clark was being pulled unwillingly into the Luthor cesspool of deceit. Could someone as decent as Clark become confused about where he stood? What was right or wrong?  
  
Pete stopped himself. Clark is not a liar. He's not. He's the most honest guy I know.  
  
"The Clark Kent that I know," Pete began slowly, "would never cover up a murder. If he knew that Lex was involved, he would say something." His voice trailed off quietly. "He should say something."  
  
Lana sensed that Pete was uncomfortable talking about his friendship with Clark. Pete and Clark had been the closest friends in school. Then Lex showed up. Pete never mentioned it, but she knew something had changed their friendship. It wasn't her business, and she didn't press the issue.  
  
Still, she wondered what happened that could slowly create this unspoken void in the friendship.  
  
"People around town are saying the verdict could come today or tomorrow," Lana offered, as she poured two mugs of hot chocolate.  
  
Pete nodded. "Yeah, that's what I hear. They're making closing arguments today."  
  
I hope the jury arrives at the right conclusion, he hoped. That Clark wasn't involved in this mess.  
  
And that the Luthors – both of them – were guilty of conspiracy and Murder One.  
  
[Closing arguments, Supreme Court]  
  
Lex's attorney, Richard Goldstein, was a bit of a prima donna. He reveled in the spectacle of the trial. He played to the merciless media who captured every sound bite. That was Lex's first impression of his lead counsel.  
  
But Goldstein's perfectly-coiffed silver-streaked hair concealed a sharp, compelling legal mind. No wonder he was lead counsel for Luthor Corp.'s Atlantic seaboard operations.  
  
Goldstein gestured emphatically to the jury. "The prosecution has dazzled us with infra-red scanning, DNA lab samples and allegedly eyewitness testimony. I'm not here to argue about the fine details of the NYPD's lab analysis or the accuracy of the coroner's report. The facts speak for themselves. Chelsea Saunders was killed. Her throat was slashed. A DNA sample suggests that an AWOL Army Ranger, Wallace Johnson may have been involved. On that, Mr. McCoy and I are in agreement."  
  
Goldstein held up his finger to stress his point. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is where the people's case begins to unravel. You can't have a murder without a motive. Mr. McCoy would have you believe Ms. Saunders was an angelic employee who dared to challenge the mighty Luthor Corp. What he failed to tell you was that Chelsea Saunders, by merely having this secretive record, was already in breach of a confidentiality agreement she had signed in good faith as an employee. So what, you might claim, that still doesn't justify murder. I don't dispute that. What I do object to is the use of this FedEx package as a magical silver bullet that somehow proves had Lex had all the reason in the world to kill Ms. Saunders."  
  
"Luthor Corp. is a multinational corporation with branches as far flung as Sydney and Buenos Aires ... with tens of thousands of employees. Ms. Saunders might have thought of herself as a virtuous whistleblower, but let's be honest here. Lex Luthor was only in town to observe, not personally direct, a project in Wall Street. If his signature was required, it would be for countless of mundane, record-keeping tasks. Of the hundreds of employees, clients, politicians and lobbyists he had to meet over the course of his stay here, do you really think Chelsea Saunders would have even registered in his mind? Yes, he did meet her for lunch. He's met just about every executive in the New York office. Is it possible Lex could have met briefly with her on the night of her murder. He was her boss, she was working on an important project, so why not? The death of Ms. Saunders is a crime. Lex having lunch with her is not. Wallace Johnson, by his own actions, is a cowardly thug who's trying to escape justice. Lex remained in New York and cooperated with the investigation, even as he was being labeled a material witness."  
  
Goldstein paused in the middle of the courtroom. "Lex Luthor, if he's to be blamed for anything, it's for perhaps being not as thorough in the selection of his security. That's a human resources oversight, not a criminal offense. The people haven't conclusively proved that the findings in this package constitute a crime. For all we know, it might be a trade infraction. Well, then, the state should just fine Luthor Corp. and thank them for being upfront with these findings – which they were in the process of revealing ..."  
  
McCoy rolled his eyes in disbelief. That was the lamest argument he had heard so far. How could the murder of Chelsea Saunders be reduced to a human resources oversight?  
  
"The problem with science," Goldstein concluded, "is that it relies on the interpretation of humans, who are fallible. The cops, the lab technicians, the police psychiatrist, the D.A.'s office all work for the state. Was there political direction in the prosecution of Lex Luthor? I'll leave you to come to your own conclusions. This might be harsh to hear, but Chelsea Saunders simply did not matter than much to Luthor Corp. She was an entry level junior exec who had visions of changing the world by betraying her employer. In the process, she crossed this mercenary, Johnson, and found herself way over her head. Her murder, while unfortunate, was not of Lex's doing. It was not of Luthor Corp.'s doing. We've heard no true evidence whatsoever to prove otherwise. The real murderer is still at large. You have no choice but to find Lex not guilty on the count of first-degree murder."  
  
Serena felt nervous. Half an hour earlier, she had pleaded with Jack to proceed cautiously.  
  
"Don't be too severe with Clark Kent," Southerlyn cautioned. "He is Lex's best friend. Clark might be in over his head, but he's not the kind of kid who'll lie about a murder!"  
  
"I think those green meteors might be messing with your objectivity," McCoy remarked. "He is in way over his head. Kent Sr. might be an honest man. Clark Kent is not."  
  
"On what basis have you come to that conclusion?" Southerlyn responded.  
  
"I read his case file from Lowell County sheriff's office," McCoy stated. "Although Clark has not been directly implicated in any crime, his police reports read longer than half the cellmates at Rikers! With all the unexplained deaths, accidents, fires, explosions ... not to mention Luthor involvement at every turn ... it begs the question: is this more than coincidence?"  
  
"So you think Smallville, Metropolis and the state of Kansas are involved in a conspiracy so wide," Southerlyn began, "that they're prepared to thwart a murder trial to keep the truth from ever coming out? C'mon Jack. I expect that sort of talk from Det. Munch, not the executive D.A. of Manhattan."  
  
"I haven't forgotten Chelsea Saunders," McCoy answered, as if anticipating Serena's line of argument. "The folks on the street always root for the underdog. Enron, Martha Stewart, WorldCom? Only their friends believe what they're saying now. The people want to see justice done, no matter how famous the plaintiff is."  
  
"I'm glad we're on the same page," Southerlyn smiled.  
  
She had hoped McCoy wouldn't go after the Luthors' reputation. Lex was an unruly youth, but he was a smarter and less reckless adult. Lionel was always ruthless with corporate enemies, but that was a desired trait in this brave new world of globalization. Luthor Corp. always had questionable practices – what company didn't? – but the Luthors themselves were still respected in certain circles.  
  
Including those with deep pockets.  
  
McCoy cleared his throat when he began his closing argument. "The defense would have you believe we are prosecuting Lex Luthor for political purposes. That's wrong. We are in agreement that Chelsea Saunders was a victim of circumstance. But, these are circumstances permitted by Luthor Corp.'s senior executive in New York: Alexander Luthor."  
  
"Ms. Saunders did register on Lex's radar. We have two weeks' worth of email between Lex and his friend in Kansas, Clark Kent, indicating that he had a difference of opinion with a junior employee. Chelsea had uncovered questionable shipping orders enroute to the Mediterranean. To parties unknown. Parties which no member of Luthor Corp. – to this day – is prepared to identify. Lionel Luthor has used every legal trick in the book to avoid testifying under oath. Obviously, Lex, as an agent of Luthor Corp., knew the risks involved if federal authorities uncovered the records Chelsea had threatened to expose to the firm's ombudsman. Or to the New York press."  
  
"The defense suggests that Chelsea was in over her head. We don't dispute this. She was fresh out of college, enamoured with a dazzling career in the Big Apple. She was raised to do the right thing. That's not naïve: that is human. She saw that her employer was doing something questionable, and she took the next logical step. She brought up her concerns to her superior, Lex Luthor."  
  
"The ball was in Lex's court," McCoy paused. He brought a stack of papers from beneath the table, and placed each file atop the table – one by one.  
  
"We have dozens of letters and memos," McCoy continued, "indicating Chelsea's futile attempts to draw attention to her concerns about an unusually high volume of chemical shipments departing from Luthor Corp.'s New York warehouses, with ship manifests that seemed to disappear, invoices that were mysteriously misplaced and a corporate culture that hoped that – if they ignored the problem long enough – it would, too, just go away."  
  
"Yes, former US Army Ranger Sgt. Wallace Johnson is wanted as a material witness in the death of Chelsea Saunders. What the people are alleging is that Mr. Johnson did not act out of passion or some contrived scheme to blackmail the Luthors into paying him hush money. Mr. Johnson did not have a motive for killing Chelsea. He was a soldier – trained to kill. Without remorse. He did his duty, but not for Uncle Sam. This is not a case of a human resources oversight. It's not even a case of criminal negligence. Over the past few weeks, we've demonstrated that Lex Luthor and his underlings did everything in their power to undermine and discredit Chelsea, to no avail."  
  
Lex focused on the table in front of him. His expression gave nothing away. As if he was plotting his next chess move. Be careful, Mr. McCoy, he grimaced. You're one or two moves away from being checkmated.  
  
"The defense would have you believe that I plan to paint a nationwide conspiracy designed to protect Luthor Corp.'s interests and political friends. Nothing could be further from the truth ..."  
  
Lex raised an eyebrow in surprise. Surely, he thought, Mr. McCoy would want to leverage the baggage Lionel Luthor carried whenever Luthor Corp. was in legal trouble.  
  
"There is no Deep Throat, no silver bullet that will convict Lex Luthor of Murder One. It's a daunting case. Evidence proves that Johnson was in the building at the time of the murder. So was Lex Luthor. DNA samples prove that Johnson was in Chelsea's room at the time of the murder. Security video shows Lex entering the building during that timeframe. The murder weapon has been found. The bloodied overalls contained both Chelsea's and Wallace Johnson's DNA. This is where the defense's case begins to fray at the edges. Wallace Johnson was not acting of his own accord. He wasn't smart enough to."  
  
Lex sat up in his chair, studying McCoy's face. He actually believes that I am guilty, Lex feared.  
  
"Where was Mr. Johnson's motive?" McCoy demanded. "We've not seen a single shred of evidence indicating why Johnson should kill Chelsea. She knew nothing about his military past. For all she knew, he was just a lobby security guard with the name badge 'Jenkinson' on his uniform. He was AWOL, with an JAG warrant hanging over him. Chelsea Saunders knew nothing of this. Then why would Johnson feel the need to kill a woman he never knew?"  
  
"The motive," McCoy raised his voice, "was in the FedEx package. And who knew the damning contents of this package? One man. One man who had the power to support Chelsea's allegations. You see, Lex Luthor had the option. He had the option to march into the company ombudsman's office with Ms. Saunders and uncover the sordid details about those mysterious chemical shipments. He had the option to challenge the hiring of a Wallace Jenkinson, one of many aliases used by a disgraced soldier on the run. Lex had many options to diffuse this problem, and chose to do nothing. Theologians would call that a sin of omission: committing a wrong by failing to act."  
  
McCoy paused in front of Lex, who glared directly at him. Check, Jack, he thought.  
  
"What he did," McCoy concluded, "according to the laws of this state ... is first-degree murder. By not lifting a finger, he allowed Wallace Johnson to kill Chelsea Saunders, thus preventing her from exposing the company's dirty secrets. But Johnson was sloppy. He left a trail of clues for authorities. These are not the actions of a man bent on committing premeditated murder. These are the mistakes of a cowardly fool who had no idea of the significance of the FedEx package. Otherwise, why would he not try to destroy the evidence: the knife, the overalls and the package? He knew he was a dead man the moment Chelsea died, so he panicked and fled. Killing two NYPD officers were spontaneous acts, which could only worsen his predicament. Was he afraid of the MPs out to arrest him, the FBI, or the Luthors themselves? Only he knows that answer."  
  
"Lex stopped at Chelsea's condo to try to convince her to drop her plans to expose the company's faults. Security camera tapes confirm he was in the building the night of the murder. The package was there. He would have seen it on the table. She was adamant. Luthor Corp.'s corporate culture despises disloyalty. Chelsea, in his eyes, was disloyal. Chelsea was prepared to betray her company for interests he couldn't understand. No doubt, he was livid. The only one who knew the significance of the package wasn't Wallace Johnson. It wasn't Clark Kent, the last person Lex confided in before Chelsea's murder. It wasn't anyone at Luthor Corp.'s Wall Street offices. It was Lex Luthor. Only he knew the potential of those records to become a scandal: one that could de-value the company's stock, scare investors and – worst of all – rob him of his future empire. The package was the motive. Wallace Johnson was the opportunity. When Chelsea rejected his final warning, he punished her. Not by dismissal, but by murder ... conveniently using a man on the run as his almost perfect alibi."  
  
"Unfortunately for Lex, he couldn't supervise how sloppily Johnson had handled the slaying. Fortunately for Chelsea, his sloppiness provided the NYPD with all the evidence they needed. Johnson was merely a tool, a weapon to be used and discarded. There is only one truth in this case: a young woman was murdered to conceal a secret. Find Lex Luthor guilty on all counts. Only then can we be assured that Chelsea Saunders' tragic death was not in vain."  
  
Lex held his hand over his mouth and whispered something to Goldstein. Lex had hoped McCoy would try to spin a fantastic conspiracy tale stretching all the way to Kansas and Washington, which the defense could then refute – fact by fact.  
  
Instead, McCoy was trying to pin the entire killing on him, by suggesting that Lex somehow created the circumstances that led to Chelsea's murder. He did call Clark that night, but only to describe his frustration with a junior employee. Clark was an innocent party, and he regretted that his best friend was involved in this mess.  
  
McCoy was right about one detail. The crisis had reached the breaking point that night. He was hesitant about confronting this naïve girl, who only saw the world as Good or Bad. I was there to rescue her career, he told himself, before Lionel could ruin her future.  
  
I was there to protect her.  
  
What happened during that heated argument at Versailles Condos haunted him, as he now faced the possibility of life in prison, or the executioner's needle.  
  
Judge Fitzwater adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and turned to the jury. "You are now charged with the task of determining the guilt or innocence of Lex Luthor on three counts: murder in the first-degree, conspiracy to commit murder and obstruction of justice. You are to be sequestered until you arrive at a decision on all counts. The court thanks you for your service."  
  
The pounding of a gavel ended Lex Luthor's struggles to plead his case. Now, he yielded control of his fate to strangers. A jury of ordinary citizens who didn't know him, and who cared even less about his future ambitions.  
  
Ambitions that could remain unrealized forever, if he was found guilty of murder.  
  
He hated it: the loss of control over his destiny. Now I know how Napoleon felt as a prisoner on the island of Elba, he thought. Before Napoleon marched to a glorious battle – on his terms – at Waterloo.  
  
Lex snickered. It's not checkmate, Jack McCoy.  
  
Not yet.  
  
[International waters, Caribbean Sea – 100 nautical miles SSW of the Dominican Republic]  
  
Wallace Johnson never knew what hit him.  
  
He had commandeered a small two-engine Cessna plane in the Florida Keys. He knew he had to leave the States. Forever. He had dishonoured his uniform by failing to report to his base three years ago. He had killed two New York cops: one, a rookie. The other, some nameless pilot who tried to struggle with him over the skies of New Jersey. It was them or me, Wallace grinned. I was trained to kill. That's what I'm good at.  
  
But he also knew that there would be no mercy for him, if he was caught. He went underground, avoiding the main traffic arteries – only surfacing in Florida two days ago.  
  
He relied on his military skills to evade capture. If he had stayed in that Virginia motel two hours longer, the feds would have snatched him. He was lucky.  
  
But his luck was running out. He was only supposed to scare Chelsea Saunders. If that meant threatening physical harm, he had been authorized to do so. She was just some dumb blonde who wanted to make a name for herself, he thought.  
  
At least that was what the colonel had suggested. If he was successful – and Chelsea backed off her crusade – he was promised a new identity, safe passage to a safe tropical nation and more money than he knew what to do with.  
  
On that terrible night in November, Wallace had spotted Lex's bald head from the rear. He had just left the elevator. Why was Lex here, he wondered. He remained in the stairwell beside her suite, listening as Lex and Chelsea began to argue.  
  
"Mark my words, Ms. Saunders," Lex had emphasized that night. "If you choose to break your confidentiality agreement with Luthor Corp., there will be consequences."  
  
"Is that a threat?" Saunders had insisted.  
  
"Consider it a final word of caution," Lex had stated. Then he left.  
  
Wallace wasn't sure what exactly Chelsea knew that was so dangerous – not only to the Luthors, but to the 'national security of the United States', as the colonel had put it.  
  
That was when Wallace lost focus.  
  
Corporate traitors could be understood, he felt. It's a society of individuals, with selfish needs.  
  
But traitors to the American republic? Since he enlisted at 18, Wallace was taught to uphold the American values of liberty and the pursuit of happiness. There was no middle ground. You either stood for Old Glory, or you didn't. Love it, or leave it, he believed.  
  
If Chelsea was going to put the country at risk through her actions, then she was a traitor. A threat. Three thousands lives disappeared on September 11. That could never happen again. His own army might see him as a renegade, but he saw himself as a patriot.  
  
One who would do anything to defend his country, even if the country turned her back on him.  
  
This threat had to be eliminated.  
  
He had received a duplicate master set of keys the day before. Anonymously. It would be useful, as he unlocked Chelsea Saunders' door.  
  
Chelsea, that little wench, was a fighter. She swung her fist to strike him. Instinctively, he blocked it, then shoved her to the ground.  
  
She lunged at him, perhaps realizing that her life was in danger.  
  
One blow to the head and she slumped to the ground. Her moans of pain threatened to raise the alarm.  
  
He had slain countless foes with a slice to the carotid artery. No man could survive the loss of blood. It was silent. Quick.  
  
It was automatic. One stroke of the knife and Chelsea was dead.  
  
Then Wallace realized what he had just done. He wasn't supposed to kill her. Only scare her.  
  
But he was a soldier. Intimidation wasn't his training. Killing was.  
  
Reality crashed around him. The colonel warned him to do exactly what this Luthor fellow wanted, to the letter. Lionel or Lex? Both of them? He didn't know. It was too late.  
  
No more new identity, no safe passage, no money. If you screw up, the colonel said, don't come back. Get lost before he finds you. No one defies Luthor and survives for long.  
  
Wallace had heard stories of other agents, other mercenaries who crossed a Luthor. They simply disappeared.  
  
He would not be one of them.  
  
When he fled the Florida Keys, he knew he would never see his beloved country again. He was saddened, as he flew past a flagpole with the Stars and Stripes. How he had loved serving the nation, once.  
  
But he could start anew. Other disgraced soldiers found new lives as soldiers of fortune. The world was full of people needing men like him to fight for them ... at the right price. A modern-day privateer. That was what he knew.  
  
He flew below US Coast Guard radar, landing on an off-coast island near the Dominican Republic. He had stashed some money in Costa Rica. If he could get there, anything was possible.  
  
The weather was overcast as he crossed the Caribbean Sea. He thought he heard a thunderstorm.  
  
He was wrong.  
  
His colonel had placed a call to Norfolk, VA. HQ of the US Navy – Atlantic Fleet. There was a NATO exercise in the Caribbean. The destroyer, USS Brandywine, was practicing manoeuvres, with live surface-to-air Patriot missles. They fired upon dozens of dummy targets.  
  
A momentary blip, then another target appeared.  
  
"Is the exercise over, sir?" the junior seaman asked.  
  
"Negative," the officer stated. "Word from Norfolk is the exercise is not over. Commence firing upon target on my order."  
  
The hydraulic system raised the Patriot missile to the proper trajectory.  
  
"Missile primed and ready, sir," the seaman replied. The blip on the radar didn't seem like another dummy target, but he was new to this post and wasn't sure.  
  
"Fire," the officer announced. The missile screeched away from the destroyer, zipped through the crisp tropical air and sped relentlessly towards its target.  
  
It would not miss.  
  
When Wallace realized that the rumbling was a missile trailing behind him, he tried to steer away instinctively. But he was a soldier, not an Air Force pilot.  
  
The explosion shredded the tiny plane into a thousand fragments. Scorched debris dotted the glorious horizon, as piece by burnt piece littered the Caribbean waters.  
  
The secrets of Wallace Johnson – warrior, Luthor sentry, murderer, cop killer – would remain buried along with the sunken pirate wrecks of the past.  
  
The seaman gasped. "Sir, I think that wasn't a dummy target."  
  
He was right. The target was no dummy, only an unlucky fool who dared to cross a powerful man.  
  
Half a continent away, atop a tower in Metropolis, Lionel Luthor listened to the phone receiver.  
  
"He was one of my own," the colonel lamented. "A fool perhaps, but a true soldier."  
  
"He knew the consequences of failure," Lionel explained. "He had no instructions to kill. He defied our orders. There are penalties for disobedience. He was damned, whether or not we did anything about it. He tempted fate ... and lost. Chelsea Saunders would have been out of the picture eventually. Her untimely death, while regrettable, will have spared this nation a crisis that could shake the foundations of the republic. If the citizenry knew to what lengths its own government would go to ensure its global superiority ..."  
  
"Sometimes secrecy is the best defense," the colonel concluded.  
  
"At last," Lionel mumbled. "You understand. Like those New Englanders hiding in the bush, waiting for Cornwallis' redcoats so long ago, a patriot's work is often in silence. In the shadows. Such is the price of nationhood."  
  
The colonel would become a general, to be granted a chair at the table when the spear of America would pierce Iraq's heart one last time.  
  
And Lionel Luthor smiled, relishing his role as a shadowy protector of his nation's darker secrets. There were no medals he wanted, no public adulation he sought.  
  
He was content in his self-indulgent belief that his actions would ensure the dominance of his country. He was not a man of faith, but of results. The masses could shop 'til they dropped, consume products and spend their hard-earned salaries ... because men like him gave them the freedom to act.  
  
They were free, because he believed he had willed it.  
  
It was an empowering feeling. Why seek public office when he held more power than most men in Washington? Many of them owed their seats to his influence, his money and his favours.  
  
And if these actions turned a profit for Luthor Corp., well, that's fine too.  
  
The intercom crackled. "Mr. Luthor, your car is waiting."  
  
The eye doctor, Lionel grumbled. He grasped his walking cane and slowly walked out of his office.  
  
He remembered a summer vacation in New Hampshire. It's motto: Live Free or Die.  
  
He smiled again. In order for us to live free, some people have to die.  
  
Lionel hummed America the Beautiful as he entered the elevator. He almost forgot that his son was on trial for murder. 


	22. CH 22 NEW

The Torch office, Smallville, Friday December 13, 2002

Chloe carefully studied the map of the United States pinned to the wall. She had been following the escape of fugitive Wallace Johnson, the prime suspect in the death of Chelsea Saunders. It was up to a jury to decide if there was Luthor involvement or direction in her murder.

Multi-coloured thumbtacks littered the map's south Atlantic seaboard. When the downed NYPD chopper was found ablaze in New Jersey, she had marked it on the map. She stuck another tack to Virginia, where federal authorities had unsuccessfully tried to nab the renegade soldier in a motel. From the Carolinas to Georgia to Florida, there were dozens of reported sightings of people who might have looked like Johnson. None of those leads resulted in an arrest, but the FBI were still certain that the fugitive was still in the continental U.S.

"You're making a run for Florida," Chloe mumbled to herself, weighing the options as Wallace Johnson might have. "You're wanted by the army, every police department in the country and the feds. You can't stay in the States for long. You mustn't stay ..."

Chloe looked southward on the map. The Florida Keys – once safe harbours for pirates long ago – could hide a small plane for an ex-military guy on the run. Then off to the Caribbean? There were plenty of little tropical countries and tax-free colonies where a person could go to re-invent himself, perhaps to cash in a reward for doing a Luthor's bidding. Then South America would beckon.

Wallace Johnson could simply disappear.

A loud thud on a desk startled Chloe. She turned around, relieved that it wasn't yet another law enforcement type out to raid her office again. Mr. Kent had brought this week's Torch from the publishers.

'SMALLVILLE STUDENT TESTIFIES BEFORE NY JURY', the headline announced.

"Thanks, Mr. Kent," Chloe replied, still focused on her map.

Jonathan Kent peered at the map with dozens of thumbtacks on it. "Still tracking that outlaw Ranger's possible escape path?" he inquired.

"There are still too many questions left unanswered," Chloe stated. "I mean, if I knew that I had double-crossed a Luthor by botching up a murder, I wouldn't make it easy for anyone to find me. If the MPs catch him, he can expect at least 25 years at Leavenworth. If the NYPD get him first, he just might be the first man executed in New York State in years! And if Lionel Luthor found him –"

Jonathan chuckled. "—if Wallace Johnson had any sense, he'd turn himself in right now. I don't think even a trained soldier would want to risk whatever punishment Lionel Luthor would have waiting for him."

"Exactly," Chloe agreed. "He's not safe anywhere in the U.S. So he has to be making a run for the border."

Jonathan traced the thumbtack trail on the map. "Mexico? The Caribbean? Heck, if he could fly his own plane, he could slip under the Coast Guard's radar and just vanish."

Then he realized just how far the Luthors might go to cover up whatever Wallace Johnson might know about the Saunders' death. If the FBI couldn't capture Johnson, there would be no first-person evidence of Luthor collusion in the murder. There would be no one who could point a finger at Lionel, or Lex – or both of them – and say: "They instructed me to kill Chelsea Saunders."

Any Luthor involvement would be brushed under the rug again. But Clark would have that shadow of doubt over him. Jonathan had heard the whispers at the gas bar, the hardware store, the Talon ... rumours that Clark might actually know more than he's letting on. The Kents were always known as an honest family, with no skeletons. But Jonathan knew that they couldn't maintain that reputation for long if Clark were somehow implicated in this sordid affair in Manhattan. He knew Clark knew nothing about the Saunders' murder. But suspicion lingered around the corner.

He needed to stamp it out before it violated his family's safety forever.

"Any word on the trial proceedings?" Jonathan asked.

"The jury's sequestered now," Chloe replied. "They've been deliberating since this morning. I figure that the jury wants to tread carefully. If Lex is found guilty, the prosecution has suggested that they might pursue capital punishment."

Jonathan clicked on the television. There appeared to be some commotion on the steps of the Manhattan courthouse. Masses of cameras, sound booms and microphones surrounded two people.

It was Martha and Clark. Jonathan turned up the volume.

"Mrs. Kent!" one of the reporters screamed. "Any news about Luthor Corp.'s malicious prosecution suit against the City of New York?!"

Martha, sleek in her gray-pinstriped suit, retained her composure. "You'll have to ask Mr. Goldstein, who is representing the firm's interests on that matter."

"Clark, do you think your friend Lex is innocent or guilty?" another reporter demanded.

Clark spun around to face the cameras, annoyed at the spectacle that the trial had become. "Well, I guess you'll have to wait for the jury's answer. And what they'll conclude is that Lex Luthor is innocent!"

For a moment, Clark felt confident in his answer. Then he spotted Mrs. Saunders at the bottom of the steps. She was also caught in a media scrum, pouring her heart out. Demanding justice for her dead daughter.

Over the past few weeks, Clark's mind had been clouded with legal arguments, testimony and briefings. Amidst all the hype, everyone seemed to have forgotten one important fact:

Chelsea Saunders – recent college grad and Luthor Corp. employee – was someone's daughter. Now she was dead, and no verdict could bring her back to life.

Escorted by court officers, Clark and Martha rushed into the building to await the verdict that could set Lex Luthor free. Or ruin his life forever.

Chloe looked up at Mr. Kent. He appeared to be reaching out to the television screen. To his family. He loved them so much, yet he felt that he was somehow letting them down by not protecting them from the chaos in the Big Apple.

"Clark has nothing to feel ashamed about," Chloe offered. "It's not his fault that Lex chose to call him that night."

"That night," Jonathan muttered. "Lex couldn't let it alone, could he? He had to get Clark involved in another mess of his doing. I'd like to believe that Lex has Clark's best interests in mind, but whenever a scandal like this erupts, I have to wonder ..."

In the hallway outside the Torch office, Lana clutched her books to her chest. She had seen Clark's declaration of Lex's innocence. And she saw that Mr. Kent was aching inside. He must feel helpless, half a continent away, while people in town and across the country were casting doubts about his son's honesty. How could one man counter the relentless glare of the media spotlight?

She leaned against the wall and sighed. Clark must feel so isolated, she fretted. Like some pawn in the D.A.'s personal feud with all things Luthor.

The sooner he gets out of New York, the better, she thought.

Sudsy's Coin Laundry, Upper East Side, New York

Elliot Stabler wiped the sweat from his brow as he shoved the pile of dirty clothes into the washer. While the wife and kids were out on a school field trip, he took these precious few hours to get stuff done. He plugged the 1.25 in quarters and set the washer cycle.

One of the customers turned on the radio in the lounge.

"The jury has been sequestered for over six hours now," a voice crackled on the air, "and there still is no word if they've reached a consensus ..."

Stabler marched over to the radio and shut it off.

"That's the last thing I wanna hear," he barked. Since Stabler was wearing a worn-out Marine Corps. t-shirt, no one dared to protest.

Det. Olivia Benson entered the Laundromat, wary that her partner was still depressed about his unpaid leave.

"Hey, Olivia, what's up," Stabler said.

"I'm fine, how are you?" Benson inquired.

"I've learned over the past few days that daytime TV bites," Stabler grumbled. "Christmas is two weeks away and I'm all jingle-belled out."

The radio crackled again. "I said I don't wanna hear that crap!" Stabler barked.

"Screw you, Elliot," Det. Munch replied. "I want to find out if Lex is gonna get his just desserts."

Few people would stand up to Elliot. Benson was one of them. And John Munch was definitely another.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Stabler snapped back. He turned to Benson again. "I take it you're not hear to separate my whites from my darks?"

Benson pulled out a sheet of paper. "An arrest warrant for State Rep. Connors. That Nichols girl. She agreed to testify."

Stabler gasped. "How did you --?"

"Olivia managed to win over her confidence," Munch replied. "We're on our way to snatch that political S.O.B. right now. And his former Wall Street boss for conspiracy to cover up the abuses."

"Alex Cabot's taking no prisoners," Benson added. "She's not cutting any deals. With Nichols' testimony, he'll be lucky to get out of Sing Sing in one piece by the end of his sentence."

Stabler paused. He knew that he jeopardized Cabot's case with his outburst. Capt. Cragen was right all along: things would be set right.

"Send Rep. Connors my regards," Stabler grinned slightly. "And tell Alex ... I'm sorry."

"She already knows, Elliot," Benson patted her partner's shoulder. "You're gonna get through this. You'll see."

When they left, Stabler waited a few minutes. Then, he reluctantly turned up the radio. He had a fleeting hope that Lex Luthor would also get what he deserved: life in prison or a needle shoved in his arm.

Helix Technologies, Wall Street, 1:10 p.m.

Surrounded by dozens of Wall Street's influential power brokers, State Rep. Connors pointed out the provocative contemporary art framed in the main lobby of Helix Technologies – a leader in biotechnology.

"One of our latest acquisitions," he bragged to the investors. These people would someday fund his gubernatorial campaign. But now was the time to stroke egos. He'd milk their wallets another day.

"And you're one of my latest acquisitions!" Munch deadpanned, as he barged into the main foyer with a dozen officers. "Rep. Connors, you're under arrest for aggravated assault, sexual exploitation of a minor and indecent exposure, you sick freak. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used ..."

The investors were stunned as Det. Benson cuffed Helix's most prominent ex- employee. "Kiss your political career goodbye," she announced. "I doubt you'd even be able to run for your condo board now. Tutuola, his former boss, Mr. Walters is on the second floor."

"What – what does Rick have to do with this?" Connors shrieked, as he was led out of the office.

"Conspiracy to cover-up a felony, accessory after the fact ..." Tutuola replied, followed by pair of uniformed cops. "Looks like you and your scum-sucking Alpha Pi keg brother are gonna be cellmates!"

Connors barked at his assistant to call an attorney.

Munch laughed. "Don't bother calling up your 'buddy', Luthor. He's one grand jury away from life in Sing Sing. Hey, maybe you three can start your own frathouse in Ossining!"

"Yeah," Benson quipped, "and the only chestnuts roasting up there this Christmas will be their sorry butts."

After several weeks of dead-ends, uncooperative witnesses and political interference, the Special Victims Unit finally nabbed Connors. Not even his status in Albany could protect him now. The Nichols girl might see justice served.

Just in time for the holidays.

Supreme Court, Trial, Part 49

Judge Fitzwater pushed his spectacles up again. "Foreman of the jury, do you have a verdict?"

A middle-aged man in a cardigan stood up. "We have, your Honour."

Finally, Lex grumbled to himself. Goldstein's legal team flanked him on either side. They expected to win. Goldstein assured him that they would be dining on Park Avenue by this afternoon.

Nice thought, Lex frowned, but we still haven't heard a verdict. My fate is still in the hands of others. The lack of control over his destiny irritated him.

"Would the defendant please rise," the judge ordered.

Lex stood up, glanced briefly at Mrs. Kent and Clark and faced the judge.

"On the count of first-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" Judge Fitzwater demanded.

Lex studied the jury: a complete cross-section of New York City. Hispanics, blacks, a pair of upper-crust WASPs. An Asian. Recent grads and pensioners. The jury was split 60 percent women, 40 percent men. Did they see him as a spoiled, morally-bankrupt sociopath – or the hapless victim of malicious prosecution?

The foreman cleared his throat. "Your Honour, we find the defendant innocent of first-degree murder."

Lex let out a muted cheer and pumped his fist in the air. Goldstein clasped his client on the shoulder in congratulations. Lex turned around and shook Clark's hand firmly. Clark gave him a spontaneous embrace. Lex was innocent of murder. That's all that mattered to him. Martha grinned, relieved that the ordeal had ended for both of them.

"On the count of conspiracy to commit murder, how do you find?" the judge continued.

"We find the defendant innocent," the foreman declared.

Southerlyn looked behind her. Mrs. Saunders burst into uncontrollable sobs, quickly silencing the Luthor camp's celebrations. McCoy's cold expression also seemed to stifle the defense's quiet gloating.

"On the count of obstruction of justice, how do you find the defendant?" the judge asked.

"We find the defendant guilty, your Honour," the foreman replied.

Goldstein immediately stood up. "We intend to appeal, your Honour."

"What a surprise," the judge sighed. "Alexander Luthor, you are free to go. But you are warned that, if your appeal is denied, you will present yourself to this court in the new year for sentencing on the obstruction of justice count. This court is now adjourned."

The gavel slammed, ending a nightmare that began when Lex learned about questionable shipments to the Mediterranean. He quickly approached Mrs. Saunders.

"Mrs. Saunders, you have my word that I will not rest until your daughter's killer is brought to justice," Lex insisted. "If my father had a hand in her death, he will answer for it. Somehow."

Mrs. Saunders flinched angrily away from him. "You have your freedom. Good for you. You have your life in Metropolis to return to. My life ended the day those detectives arrived on my doorstep! My daughter is dead. And no court in this land will convince me that the Luthors had no hand in her murder! Just – just leave me alone!" Before McCoy could console her, she stormed out of the courtroom.

"I told you he was innocent," Clark glared at McCoy.

McCoy ignored him and approached Goldstein. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot. We'll get Lex on obstruction. We'll get him and his father on those shipments."

Lex stepped forward. "What is it that you have against me, Mr. McCoy? Surely this isn't just sour grapes we're seeing."

McCoy grimaced at Lex. "You might be able to walk away from this media circus today, but I can assure you that all the money in the world won't help you forget that Chelsea Saunders – an employee under your watch – died for a Luthor family secret. Sleep on that, if you can!"

Lex smirked. "The Chinese general Sun-Tzu once said that a warrior never enters into a contest if he can't be assured of a victorious outcome. You bit off more than you can chew, Mr. McCoy. Ambition is a powerful motivator. Unfortunately, you let it cloud your judgment. My father has many sins to answer for. Either in this life, or the next. His sins aren't mine and I have no desire to bear the guilt of his mistakes. I regret that you can't see past that."

McCoy noticed the Napoleonic-era coin embedded in Lex's watch. "Didn't Napoleon also say that four hostile newspapers are more to be feared that a thousand bayonets? I'm guessing your family's rag, the Gazette, will hail your victory. As for the Post, the Times, the Daily Planet ... I suspect you won't find such a sympathetic hearing. The jury might feel you have nothing to hide. But the average joe on the street thinks the Luthors are nothing but well-connected liars in expensive suits. When we find Wallace Johnson –"

"— 'if' you find Johnson." Goldstein interrupted. "'Rambo' Wally acted of his own accord. End of story! Do you really want to push this obstruction of justice thing? Cut your losses, Jack, before your neck's in the wringer."

"This isn't over," Lex remarked, as he peered mercilessly at the District Attorney. "On that, we're in agreement, Mr. McCoy."

When the defense left, Southerlyn took McCoy aside.

"What if Goldstein's right, Jack," she said, "what if we can't find Johnson?"

"He's out of our hands at this point," McCoy replied. "We'll play the cards we're dealt. There's the file with the Major Case Squad ... new evidence may come to light ... perhaps a new witness will come forward ..."

When they left the courthouse, a swarm of reporters descended on them.

"Where does the Luthors' malicious prosecution suit stand, Mr. McCoy? Is there any merit to it?" a reporter demanded. Camera bulbs flashed amid the horde of microphones and tape recorders.

"We did the right thing," McCoy stated. "The facts support our case."

"Are you going to proceed with the obstruction of justice count?" another reporter blurted.

"It is our intention to pursue this matter to the fullest extent," McCoy replied. "Lex Luthor used his influence to delay and thwart a murder investigation. I welcome the opportunity to prove that in court. My only regret today is that the Saunders' family has been denied justice, for now."

A reporter from the Daily Planet bounded up the stairs towards McCoy and Southerlyn. "What do you make of initial reports that the body found in that crashed plane in the Caribbean Sea is that of Sgt. Wallace Johnson?"

McCoy and Southerlyn stared at each other in disbelief. Wallace Johnson is dead?

"I beg your pardon?" McCoy replied.

"There was a naval exercise, off Dominican Republic waters," the Planet reporter explained. "They accidentally shot down a Cessna. Navy divers retrieved a body. The coroner hasn't arrived at a conclusion, but they found some ID that suggests the pilot could be your fugitive."

McCoy let out a breath. He would confirm these reports independently, but he feared its terrible conclusion.

His only apparent link between Luthor and the Saunders murder had just been swept away, lost forever underneath a tropical Caribbean sun.

... to be continued.


	23. CH 23 NEW

[Cornwallis Hotel, Manhattan, Friday December 13, 3:30 p.m.]  
  
Clark packed his clothes into the luggage. With Lex's innocent verdict on two of the three charges, the State of New York no longer needed to sequester their so-called 'star' witness. The entire experience had left a bitter taste in his mouth and he was glad that he would be catching the supper-hour flight from JFK to Metropolis International.  
  
"I wish you could go home with me, Mom," Clark muttered.  
  
Martha had a stack of legal files tied to a trolley. Lex's trial might be over, but the Luthors – for the moment – were pressing forth on the malicious prosecution suit.  
  
"I wish I could, hon," Martha frowned, "but Lionel wants me to stay a few more days to get his new legal team up to speed on the events at the Supreme Court. But I promise I'll be back in Smallville well before the holidays."  
  
A horn honked outside. "It's my ride," Martha fretted. "I've got to get to Luthor Corp. Wall Street in the next 20 minutes!" She quickly hugged her son and smiled politely at ADA Southerlyn, who held open the suite door.  
  
"We'll make sure Clark gets home safely, Mrs. Kent," Southerlyn replied.  
  
Clark scanned the room one last time. "And to think that this was my home for two weeks. I'll be glad to be back in Kansas, that's for sure! Have I forgotten anything?"  
  
Southerlyn checked her watch. "Your ride should be here any moment now." Someone knocked loudly on the door.  
  
"Ms. Southerlyn," the uniformed officer announced. "Detectives Tutuola and Munch here to see you."  
  
"What's all this about?" Clark wondered.  
  
"The D.A.'s office doesn't want to further antagonize your relationship with Lex Luthor," Southerlyn answered, "so the state will be providing you with an escort, of sorts, to Metropolis. At state expense."  
  
"Hey, I'm a man of my word," Det. Munch quipped. "I promised Mr. Kent we'd see to it that Clark gets home safely and that's what we're gonna do."  
  
"It's too bad you gotta leave now," Tutuola offered. "I mean, the Knicks are playin' the Metropolis Barracudas on Monday."  
  
"If it's all the same to you," Clark said, "I think I've seen my fill of New York: murder, a media frenzy, my friend one verdict away from death row ..."  
  
"And the meteor-fueled goings-on in Smallville aren't as crazy?" Munch remarked. "Man, some of the stuff I've been reading in the Ledger makes my head spin!"  
  
"So Lex Luthor walks, hmm?" Tutuola frowned at Serena. "I definitely didn't see that coming."  
  
"That's because he was innocent all along," Clark protested.  
  
Munch rolled his eyes in frustration. "Y'know, you are so loyal to Lex Luthor, I gotta wonder if he's done anything to deserve your steadfast faith in him."  
  
Clark stared out at the Manhattan skyline. The holiday season was at hand, with shoppers dashing from store to store. He really didn't see much of New York, other than what he could spot from his suite window. He was a virtual prisoner because of his relationship with Lex. Even now, he had to defend a friendship that few people understood.  
  
It wasn't that complicated to him.  
  
"Lex Luthor is my friend," Clark insisted. "He just wants someone to believe in him. And I still do, whatever you say."  
  
Munch sighed. "Suit yourself, Kent. But I got a feeling he's going to burn you big time – maybe not today, or tomorrow – but down the line. I only hope you'll be ready for that moment."  
  
"Later, Serena," Tutuola nodded as they left. "We're off to see the Wizard. That's if the Tin Man over here remembered where he parked the car."  
  
Minutes later, as the detectives drove through Manhattan, Munch clicked on the radio. Some loud-mouthed radio jock was barking about the injustice of the Luthor verdict.  
  
"They should've fried Lex's behind!" the radio jock exclaimed. "Put him on a gurney and juice him into the afterlife! With his team of high-priced lawyers, the Gazette's hacks in his pocket and Bloomberg kissing his bald head, it's no wonder the Saunders family got screwed over. It's a travesty, New York. A scam!"  
  
Clark seemed uncomfortable. "Could you change the station? I just about had enough of this mudslinging."  
  
"The truth hurts, don't it," Munch remarked, as he turned left at the Empire State building. "If Lex were anyone but a Luthor, he'd be doing the Sing Sing shuffle for 25-to-life right now. But money talks, and with Wallace Johnson mysteriously Patriot-missled into next Thursday compliments of the US Navy, we'll never know who was really behind the Saunders killing."  
  
Clark pouted. Was he the only person who believed that Lex had nothing to do with the murder? "I don't feel like getting into another debate about this, so you listen to whatever you want."  
  
"John, just lay off of him already," Tutuola stated. "It's been an ordeal for him and his family too."  
  
The traffic had slowed to a crawl. Munch stopped the car, took off his glasses in frustration and glared at his partner. "No, I won't lay off, Fin! Clark Kent knows Lex better than anyone. If you're somehow holding out on some information, Clark ..."  
  
"I'm not," Clark snapped. "I was under oath. If I knew something, don't you think I'd have said so on the stand?"  
  
"Geez, Munch," Tutuola remarked. "What's with the third-degree on Kent? You seem even more uppity that your usual cranky self. What gives?"  
  
Munch nodded towards the intersection.  
  
In the distance, they heard a pair of sirens. Motorcycle cops had halted the traffic. Then the swirl of band drums boomed in the crisp December air. A dozen bagpipers wailed out a lament, as scores – then hundreds – of police officers in their finest uniforms marched in step to the roll of drums. It was the funeral procession of fallen rookie cop Mike Vanelli, who was brutally slain by Wallace Johnson.  
  
Clark began to understand Munch's tense attitude. An officer had died in the line of duty. The thin blue line had faltered, as one of its brothers had given his life for New York. In this city -- more than anywhere else – the sacrifice of the men and women in blue would not be taken for granted. He watched as the mournful procession made its way through the downtown core.  
  
"I'm sorry about Constable Vanelli," Clark offered. The detectives didn't respond, and no one said a word for the rest of the trip.  
  
There was no point.  
  
Clark and the detectives drove to JFK, leaving Southerlyn and the D.A.'s office to cope with the fallout of Lex's newfound freedom. He had been accused of murder and conspiracy. He faced the knowledge that a guilty verdict could have led to life in prison or a lethal injection.  
  
A jury of his peers had judged him innocent. He felt personally wronged by D.A. McCoy. The scales had tipped in his favour, as the Luthors were poised to cripple the City of New York with a multi-million dollar lawsuit. Goldstein's letter of intent spelled it out: the NYPD, the D.A.'s office and City Hall were lined up like ducks in a shooting gallery.  
  
Arthur Branch had many influential friends, both in the Big Apple and elsewhere. But he was not as well-connected as the Luthors. They could count the governor, the mayor and senators as political allies.  
  
Allies who could make it difficult for Branch to get re-elected.  
  
Would Branch be willing take the heat for this fiasco, or leave McCoy out to hang in a mess that was partly of Jack's own making?  
  
There would be consequences.  
  
[Office of Lt. Anita Van Buren, 27th Precinct]  
  
When Southerlyn arrived at the homicide unit, she spotted Capt. Cragen in full dress uniform. Today, rookie NYPD constable Mike Vanelli would be buried with full honours. Thousands of cops from across North America were already forming in procession outside St. Patrick's Cathedral. He mumbled something to Anita.  
  
"I have the dossier on the Switzer slaying," Southerlyn began. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting ..."  
  
Cragen was about to leave when he abruptly stopped in front of the counselor.  
  
"Why is it 'two steps forward, three steps back' whenever the lawyers get involved?" he demanded. "For every Connors slime-ball we nab, people like the Luthors waltz beyond the reach of the justice system! And that Johnson fella's now shark food in the tropics! So much for your irrefutable link to the Luthors ..."  
  
"We had a good case, Captain," Southerlyn argued. "And Lex didn't get off scot-free! We got him on obstruction of justice."  
  
"... pending appeal," Cragen remarked. "Luthor's people will drag it out in court forever. This is not a good day, any way you paint it!" He paused, sighed and took off his hat. "Look, I didn't mean to be abrupt with you. I've got to pay my last respects to a good cop today. Just tell me the D.A.'s gonna make sure that Vanelli didn't die for nothing."  
  
"He didn't," Southerlyn replied. "We're doing everything we can."  
  
"I wish I could believe you, Serena," Cragen stated solemnly, as he left the office. "I really do."  
  
When he left, Southerlyn took a seat across from Van Buren.  
  
"Where's Lennie and Ed?" Southerlyn asked.  
  
"Well, they're pretty peeved at the Luthor verdict, lemme tell ya," Van Buren groaned. "They're at St. Pat's for the funeral."  
  
Southerlyn noticed that Van Buren seemed sad and assumed it was grief over the slain officer.  
  
"I'm sorry," she offered.  
  
"You're sorry," Van Buren remarked sarcastically. "D.A. McCoy's sorry. Arthur Branch is sorry. Heck, Mayor Bloomberg and Gov. Pataki are sorry, too. The whole damn world's sorry! That doesn't mean they have any idea what the beat cop on the street has to face day in, day out. That boy Vanelli died, and for what? So that Lex Luthor can go free to live the high life in Metropolis? What does Mrs. Saunders get? Where's her justice? Where's ... mine ..."  
  
The lieutenant, who was usually tough under pressure, sniffed – trying to muffle a sob.  
  
"Anita, what's really wrong?" Southerlyn inquired. "Don't tell me the chief is thinking –"  
  
"Well, give the lady showcase #1," Van Buren replied. "The moment I heard the evidence was leaning towards Lex Luthor, I knew – I knew – that this was going to be a political hot potato. That's why I made sure we did everything by the book. Dot all the i's and cross all the t's. The motive seemed a little wonky but I let myself believe that the D.A.'s office would find something of merit in that FedEx package. So, when it was time to pull the trigger and arrest Lex, I believed we had a good case. Not great, but good enough to get a conviction."  
  
"It's not your fault," Southerlyn placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The buck stops at the D.A.'s office. We couldn't convince a grand jury that Lex had the intent to kill Chelsea Saunders."  
  
"Maybe," Van Buren replied. "But it was Lex Luthor who we arrested. Lex Luthor, son of Lionel Luthor – one of the most powerful industrialists in America! Luthor Corp. makes 'The Donald' look like a mom-and-pop operation. Some say he's got the ear of the President. The President, can you believe it! The buzz around One Police Plaza is that the chief needs to put someone's head in the wringer to appease city hall. Elliot Stabler over at the SVU is on thin ice, but word is, the union will likely go to bat for him if he gets the pink slip. Me on the other hand ...the black woman who they'll say probably made grade just to fill some departmental quota?"  
  
Southerlyn frowned. She wanted to believe that Anita was just anxious about the fallout of Luthor's innocent verdict. And with the funeral of Constable Vanelli, every New York cop's nerves were wound up to the breaking point. The chief wouldn't make an example of Lt. Van Buren – would he?  
  
"Were you planning to go to the funeral, too?" Southerlyn tried to steer the conversation to another topic.  
  
"Briscoe and Green are paying respects in my place," Van Buren answered. "Anyhow, I just got word of a homicide in Hell's Kitchen. I'm swamped. You know, I made grade on merit, not some affirmative action pity assignment ... I want to be able to send my kid to college, and I'm not going to just lay down and take it. You tell your boss that! He's the one who couldn't get the murder rap to stick, he can line up to the guillotine without me."  
  
Van Buren sat at her desk, scribbling on a report. She was on the verge of tears, but she kept her emotions in check. She was a cop, and there was work to do.  
  
If anyone's career is on the line, Southerlyn thought, it's probably Jack's.  
  
[O'Grady's Bar and Tavern, Manhattan, 10:30 p.m.]  
  
"Lex Luthor, innocent of murder," Briscoe shook his head in disgust. "You really screwed us over big-time, McCoy!" He tapped his finger on the table to emphasize his point. "Heads are gonna roll and you know who they're gonna pick for fall guys? Probably the cops who first collared that bald Richie Rich: me and Ed!"  
  
McCoy had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Lex innocent of murder. It was not the verdict he had expected. With the emerging news that Wallace Johnson was indeed the dead pilot found in that unbelievable naval mishap in the Caribbean, Jack had lost almost all hope that he could resurrect this case.  
  
"We had a good case, Lennie," McCoy sipped his cola. "We had the bloody overalls, the murder weapon, the FedEx package of questionable shipping ..."  
  
"But you needed a murderer to link A to B to C, that's where it all fouled up," Green grumbled, as he sipped his beer.  
  
"What's that, your third beer, Ed?" Briscoe wondered. "Maybe you should lay off the sauce. It ain't good for the liver, lemme tell ya."  
  
Green pushed aside the bottle. "You're probably right. Heck, once the chief cans our butts, the only thing I'll be able to afford is tuna and crackers. At least you'll have your pension to tide you over."  
  
Briscoe snickered as he munched on some peanuts. "Yeah, I'll hit the jackpot, for sure. I doubt my pension will cover light and hydro in this town. I'd have to move across the Hudson to make ends meet. Jersey. You know your number's up when ..."  
  
"You aren't going to get fired, guys," McCoy insisted, as he glanced at the tempting liquor bottles stacked behind the bar.  
  
"And how do you figure that?" Green demanded.  
  
"He means we're not high enough on the totem pole to make a point of it," Briscoe noted.  
  
"Bingo," Jack replied. "You're on the frontlines. You arrest the bad guys. That's your job. The decision to go after Lex and Lionel came from above the rank-and-file."  
  
"No way," Green realized. "Not Van Buren?"  
  
McCoy didn't answer, because he was afraid that he was right. The NYPD would be expected to do some bloodletting. Unfortunately, one way to satisfy that would be to fire a ranking officer in the homicide squad.  
  
"That's a load of crap!" Briscoe protested. "She would never had OK'd the arrest if you guys in the D.A.s office didn't get all anxious about nailing Lex on the Saunders murder!"  
  
"Lennie, you know how this works," McCoy stated. "We played roulette with the Luthors' reputation, his press people will claim. If it's any comfort, my neck is in the noose, too. I doubt Arthur Branch will bail me out this time. I was the one who prosecuted the heir to the Luthor empire. I lost."  
  
"With all due respect, Jack," Briscoe remarked, "yours is the only head who should be on a platter. Not ours, and definitely not Anita's!"  
  
McCoy rubbed his eyes in fatigue. The bartender was pouring a customer a drink. It was scotch. "I deserved that," McCoy replied. "I'll see what I can do about Van Buren."  
  
Green tossed a few darts at the dartboard. "So if Lex was found guilty, would you have gone the distance?"  
  
"The death penalty?" McCoy pondered for a moment. "He allowed a set of circumstances to exist, which precipitated the silencing by murder of a whistle-blowing employee who had no ulterior motive except to reveal the truth. I would have pushed for capital punishment and exhausted all of his appeals. Chelsea died for Luthor secrets. He'd get no mercy from me."  
  
"Damn," Green replied. "You lawyers really have no soul."  
  
"Anything to drink, gents?" inquired one of the waitresses.  
  
"Lennie will have another cola, coffee for Ed," McCoy replied, "... and I'll have a scotch on the rocks."  
  
Briscoe immediately gripped McCoy's hand. "Jack, you don't want to get on the wagon now. Trust me, I've been there. Miss, my friend here will have a ginger ale instead."  
  
McCoy relented. "Though I could use a drink, you're right." He looked longingly at the patrons drinking their spirits, ryes and cocktails.  
  
"You're probably right."  
  
They heard a commotion at the entrance. A shock of silver-peppered hair. That haughty laugh.  
  
It was Richard Goldstein, Lex's defense attorney. Apparently, the Luthor legal team had been bar-hopping downtown to celebrate their court victory.  
  
"Well, if it isn't Detectives Laurel and Hardy!" a red-faced Goldstein hollered. "Jack! I figured I'd find you here. A Mick in a tavern! Come, let's bury the hatchet. Let me buy you a drink ..."  
  
"His ginger ale is just fine," Briscoe stood up between them. "Look, why don't you find another watering hole to drench your thousand-dollar suit in."  
  
"Oh, my apologies, Lennie," Goldstein elbowed the detective in jest. "Jack's had past troubles with the sauce. And if I'm not mistaken, you've had some ... expertise ... in fine spirits, eh?"  
  
Green immediately pushed aside his chair and stood up. "Alright, you've done your gloating. I suggest you leave. Now. Before I do somethin' about makin' you leave!"  
  
Goldstein laughed. "Oh yes, Ed Green, the hotheaded junior partner. You're the guy who let Wally Johnson slip through your fingers! When I'm through with you, you can look forward to an exciting career in mall security. If you're lucky. You can't just march around and arrest anyone you like on a whim."  
  
"Enough, Richard," McCoy snapped. "I lost. You won. Does that satisfy your ego?"  
  
Goldstein pulled up a chair beside Jack. "No, actually it doesn't. I want to see you squirm before the state bar disciplinary board, as you try to defend your politically-motivated character assassination of Lex Luthor. You soiled my client's reputation in this state, if not the across the country. You see, Jack, I've got the goods on all the main players. Briscoe, Green, Van Buren ... I haven't forgotten Stabler's assault, or your SVU friends, either ..."  
  
McCoy was enraged. His throat was as dry as a desert. He really wanted a drink now.  
  
"No witty repartee, McCoy?" Goldstein whispered. "No smart rebuttal? That's because you understand what comes next, don't you? I have dirt on you, too, Jack. Your affairs with assistants in your employ. And that lovely ADA who worked for you. What was her name? Claire Kincaid ... that's it."  
  
Jack's heart sunk to his ankles. Claire Kincaid. Smart as a whip, with a passion for life that matched it. Claire was his ADA almost a decade ago. An effective prosecutor and partner. More than a partner, Jack thought. They were lovers, but it was more than that. He loved her. She died senselessly, hit by some drunk driver.  
  
Goldstein now threatened to drag her name through the mud, disturbing her solemn peace.  
  
Briscoe angrily pushed the table away from him and stood up. "Now, you've crossed the line! I was there when Claire died! You've been warned. Get out, now, before we settle this outside like real men."  
  
"Stand down, Lennie," McCoy ordered weakly. "Richard just proved what we've known all along. He hasn't got an ounce of class. And no shame."  
  
Goldstein snickered, along with his legal associates. He leaned towards McCoy again. "You're finished, McCoy." They left, singing loudly into the Manhattan night.  
  
Briscoe could sense that McCoy was falling into that state of despair. The same despair he had the night that Claire –  
  
"Jack, look, it's been a long day," he offered. "Why don't I swing by your place and drop you off? We've all been workin' hard on this case. You could use some rest."  
  
McCoy wasn't in the mood for comforting words, or lectures about 'layin' off the sauce'. The sauce was the only thing on his mind now.  
  
McCoy waved over the waitress. "I'll be having that scotch on the rocks."  
  
Briscoe relented. "Ed, I'll call you a cab. I'll keep McCoy company."  
  
For several awkward minutes, Jack and Lennie sat at that table. Not a word was said as Jack drank his scotch, guilty that he had given in to this vice, his personal demon.  
  
"I miss her, too, Jack," Briscoe finally broke the silence. McCoy simply nodded. He didn't have to say a word, because they both understood.  
  
Claire was indeed special. 


	24. CH 24 CONCLUSION

[The Torch office, Smallville]  
  
Pete typed furiously on his computer. He wanted to finish his column on study tips for the fall term exams. Then, he could concentrate on studying for his own American history exam.  
  
"Can you believe it?" Chloe began, as she checked her email. "Uncle Sam shot Wallace Johnson out of the Caribbean sky! What are the odds of that?"  
  
Pete grimaced. He had his own theories about the shocking end to Chelsea Saunders' killer. A Patriot missile had shredded the killer's small Cessna plane into metal scraps. With that 'mishap' – and Pete used the term loosely – the hidden hand behind the murder would forever remain a secret.  
  
He knew the truth. Lionel had friends at the Pentagon. One of his friends must have orchestrated the naval 'accident'. The result: Wallace Johnson would take his knowledge of any Luthor involvement in murder to a watery, coral-encrusted grave in the Caribbean Sea.  
  
"Lionel Luthor made it happen," Pete insisted. "He got Wallace blown out of the sky to cover up his connection to Chelsea's killing."  
  
Chloe stood up, pretending to be a big-city lawyer. "Colourful theory, Counsellor Ross, but what facts do you have to prove it?"  
  
Pete grinned. "We have allegations, Ms. Sullivan, that the hiring of a Wallace Jenkinson – one of the suspect's many aliases – didn't go through proper channels ... thus leap-frogging over the rigid screening process for Luthor Corp. security guards. He worked there for at least six months. Someone had to sign his cheques. If the Luthors are claiming that they couldn't possibly know that he was working for them, that's at least negligent. But I doubt they'd pass up an opportunity to use a patsy like Johnson. The guy's got nothing to lose."  
  
"So?" Chloe challenged. "Guilt by association? That's hardly enough to prove a Luthor connection. Maybe it was some extremely unusual coincidence that Johnson did the Luthors a unexpected favour by giving them a perfect alibi."  
  
Pete laughed out loud. "You don't believe that for a second!"  
  
Chloe sat at her desk. "Of course not. And believe me, if I had solid evidence that Lionel ordered that heavy artillery hit on that renegade Ranger, I'd be at the Planet's newsroom right now."  
  
"But we have no proof," Pete sighed, "which brings us back to square one: Lionel gets away with it."  
  
Chloe picked up the front page of the Gotham Times. "Not necessarily, Pete. Lex wasn't completely exonerated. I mean, the grand jury found him guilty of obstruction of justice. His attorneys are taking it to appeal, but that's proof we're not the only one who think there's a conspiracy afoot. The Planet's suggesting that the US Attorney might even charge Luthor Corp. with a federal offense."  
  
"Well, good luck to them," Pete replied. "Lionel's one big fish who's managed to wiggle his way out of many frying pans."  
  
Chloe knew that the Ross family's relations with the Luthors seemed to border on polite hostility. It was none of her business, but she often wondered how Lionel had wronged the Ross family in the past. She decided to change the subject.  
  
"Mr. Kent got a call from ADA Southerlyn," Chloe revealed.  
  
"Oh yeah, Serena," Pete grinned. "She can subpoena me any day."  
  
Chloe reprimanded Pete with a pinch on the arm. "Okay, ADA Southerlyn was a hot blonde. We get the picture! Anyway, she said Clark was leaving for Metropolis today."  
  
Pete typed one last sentence. "Finished! No more columns for this year! And Clark's coming back home. This day couldn't get any better."  
  
There was a loud knock on the Torch office door.  
  
"Chloe?" It was Sheriff Miller, accompanied by two men in dark grey suits. Both of them had to be at least six feet tall, with matching haircuts. Apparently.  
  
"You spoke too soon, Pete," Chloe mumbled. "Yes, Sheriff?"  
  
The two men approached Chloe. "I'm Special Agent Ridge. This is Special Agent Fowler. We're with the Metropolis branch of the FBI."  
  
"FBI?" Pete blurted.  
  
"If you're here to raid my office again," Chloe groaned. "I'm afraid you've already taken my laptop and two weeks' worth of files. If you'd like old Torch archives from the disco era, feel free to get your groove on, agents."  
  
The agents chuckled. "It's not a raid Miss Sullivan." A pair of sheriff's deputies carried in several cardboard boxes, with her files. And her laptop computer.  
  
Chloe held up her laptop as if it was a long-lost relic. "My laptop!"  
  
Pete sifted through the returned Torch files. "It's too bad these didn't help you guys."  
  
"On the contrary," Agent Fowler replied. "Those files and Chloe's email pointed us in directions we wouldn't have thought of re: Luthor involvement in questionable business transactions. We followed the New York trial very closely."  
  
"The U.S. government thanks you for your assistance," Agent Ridge. "In a post-9/11 world, not even Lionel Luthor is above careful observation. We hope this wasn't too much of an inconvenience."  
  
Chloe was about to say something about freedom of the press, but Pete quickly intervened. "No problem, agents. Thanks for bringing our stuff back in one piece."  
  
When the sheriff and the agents left, Pete packed away his binders and notebooks. "Hey, I've gotta run. I've got to study today."  
  
Chloe had switched on the TV. Metropolis Channel 9 had a report about a funeral: the slain rookie NYPD cop, Mike Vanelli.  
  
Pete frowned in disgust. "The Luthors should be held accountable for that cop's death, too!"  
  
Chloe agreed with him. But Lionel had built an impenetrable wall of secrecy around him. It would take a federal investigation to lure Metropolis' infamous weasel out of his lair.  
  
[Meeting Room Two, One Police Plaza, New York]  
  
Lex Luthor took in a deep breath. He inhaled, and relished the free air. Red and gold tinsel decorated many of the surrounding buildings. A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalks. No longer a defendant and prisoner, Lex finally felt comfortable in his own skin. He would have preferred a complete exoneration, but he would deal with that lingering obstruction of justice count in due time.  
  
He smiled. Richard Goldstein won a court victory. Innocent of murder. Innocent of conspiracy. He owed the attorney his gratitude. That was all he could offer, since Lionel had compensated the lawyer with a sizable salary. But Richard was moving on to bigger fish. Lionel wanted him to direct the malicious prosecution suit against the NYPD, the D.A.'s office and City Hall.  
  
Richard is my father's man, Lex concluded. The trial had shown him that Lionel Luthor's interests sometimes worked against his own best interests. He had a nagging suspicion that his father would have been content with a guilty verdict, if it spared Luthor Corp. from further investigation.  
  
Lex had no desire to indulge further doubts. He selected his own lead counsel. Someone who knew the inner workings of the New York justice system: its players, its influence-peddlers and power-brokers.  
  
He suspected that the NYPD were ready to settle. Perhaps he could get them to admit fault in their investigations. That was unlikely, since the people of New York had rallied in support of their police. The funeral of Mike Vanelli hung over the Big Apple like a thick fog. The outraged citizens demanded justice, which meant that the police would be reluctant to make amends with the family who had employed a cop-killer.  
  
Lex didn't recognize any of the officers in this department. It was the Major Case Squad, which was still investigating Luthor Corp.'s questionable trans-Atlantic shipments.  
  
A tall, grey-haired man approached him. "Mr. Luthor, I'm Capt. Deakins of the Major Case Squad."  
  
Lex put on his professional face. "Lex Luthor, it's a pleasure. I trust that the D.A.'s office received my letter?"  
  
"I'm told that they have," Deakins replied. "And the investigation of Luthor Corp.'s shipping irregularities is D.A. Ron Carver's responsibility."  
  
Lex nodded. "Good. It will be refreshing to deal with someone who doesn't have an axe to grind against the Luthors." He looked around the department. "And where is Mr. Carver now? I have pressing matters at Luthor Corp. Wall Street before I leave for Kansas. I don't have much time to spare."  
  
Deakins checked his watch. "I'm guessing that he's stuck in deliberations at the courthouse. The Thorne racketeering case."  
  
Lex seemed puzzled. "Rupert Thorne, Gotham City's underworld kingpin? I didn't think his turf extended to the Big Apple."  
  
"It's the city that never sleeps," Deakins concluded. "Every low-life leech and hotshot gangster wants a piece of apple pie. What can you do, but press on."  
  
Lex shrugged. "I guess."  
  
Deakins directed him towards a seat. "D.A. Carver will be here shortly. I'll have my assistant bring you a coffee."  
  
Det. Alexandra Eames, dressed in a navy blue skirt and jacket, arrived with a cup of coffee. "Oh ... my ... god, you're Lex Luthor!" Eames pretended to gush. "You, like, own the Metropolis Sharks!" She extended her hand. "I'm an Alex, too!"  
  
"Hi, Alex," Lex grinned slightly. "I think you're the first person in this city who knows me from something other than the murder trial."  
  
Eames looked behind her to check if Capt. Deakins had left. "You know, between you and me, I never believed for a second that you were involved. My boss does, but hey, what does he know ..."  
  
"Thanks for the coffee, miss," Lex sipped his cup. He seemed nervous, as he checked his watch. "My counsel should be here. He must be caught in traffic."  
  
When Eames closed the room door, she crossed the hall to another meeting room. The window blinds had been pulled shut. District Attorney Ron Carver, Deakins and Det. Goren were seated around the table. In the rear, police psychologist Dr. Emil Skoda leaned against a file cabinet.  
  
"Uhh, miss, I'd like a coffee," Goren joked.  
  
"Stuff it, Goren," Eames quipped. "I learned that his attorney is running late. But he could be here soon."  
  
"Who's his new lead counsel?" Goren wondered.  
  
Carver had insisted on one final meeting before Lex left the city. "Paul Robinette," he replied. "I take it that name rings a bell."  
  
"Robinette?" Deakins was genuinely surprised. "He used to work for the D.A."  
  
Carver nodded. "He was there with Ben Stone. He's crossed the other side of the fence since then. Who better than a former ADA to wrestle with the political labyrinth that is the Manhattan D.A.'s office? Robinette's no prima donna. If Lex has anointed him as his chief counsel, we're in for a battle royal."  
  
Carver slowly stood up, considering the gravity of their next move. "If we're going to do this, we do this. No looking back." He looked towards Dr. Skoda. "Emil?"  
  
Skoda reviewed his case files. "Lex Luthor's outlook is narcissistic. With the court victory, he must be flush with confidence. Or over-confidence, to be more accurate. But he's the sort of person who calculates every word he says, every action he does. If you're going to move, do it now. But tread carefully. This thing blows up – he'll take no prisoners."  
  
Deakins approached Goren. "You think you can do it?"  
  
Goren paced around the table. "You say he's over-confident about now. Like the world is in the palm of his hand? He's beaten the D.A. at his own game. He's got us by the you-know-what, thanks to the lawsuit. He's got the best defense attorney to back his play. His guard is probably dropped. Alright, I'm game." He headed for the exit.  
  
Carver knew the risks. He had done everything he could to protect Lt. Van Buren, Lennie and Ed. The powerful police union would likely take up Det. Stabler's cause. But Goren was planning to test Lex's resolve.  
  
To find a chink in the legendary Luthor armour.  
  
He took Goren aside. "Look, I know you've heard about McCoy's run-in with Goldstein last night at O'Grady's."  
  
"Lennie told me about it," Goren stated.  
  
Carver grimaced. "I just want you to understand the severity of the situation. Lex Luthor stands to inherit a multi-billion-dollar empire. He has allies of his own in Albany. He's every bit as ruthless as Lionel, no matter how charming or considerate he might appear to be. If the Luthors win this lawsuit, they'll lay waste to many careers. We've got one shot to get Lex to fess up on Luthor Corp.'s chemical shipments. If you push him too far ... he'll tear you apart."  
  
Goren adjusted the collar of his shirt and rotated his shoulders to loosen up. "What Goldstein said about Lennie and those guys ... I'd be glad to take on Lex. Just out of spite."  
  
Carver paused for a moment, then nodded. "Do it. Break him – if you can."  
  
Goren marched out of the room, picked up a novel and papers from his desk and strolled into the meeting room.  
  
Across the table, Lex Luthor reviewed the Wall Street Journal.  
  
"Checking up on Luthor Corp. stocks?" Goren inquired. "I suspect they've gone up since the verdict."  
  
Lex continued reading. "Yes, they have. Excuse me, have we met?"  
  
Goren nervously extended his hand. "Oh, sorry! I'm Det. Goren. I was just by to get your signatures. It's routine: some forms to release the stuff the NYPD seized from you upon your arrest."  
  
"Oh, right," Lex quickly read the forms, then signed them. "I had a Rolex and gold fountain pen. Not to mention the keys to my Porsche."  
  
Goren sat down across from him. "Porsche, eh. Sweet ride."  
  
Lex finished signing the forms. "Yeah, it is. 2003 Porsche Boxter. Unfortunately, I can probably walk faster than it can go during rush hour in Manhattan."  
  
Goren chuckled. "I hear you. That's why I stick to my transit pass ... no parking problems."  
  
Lex smiled. Goren seemed like a nice guy. "You wouldn't by any chance know a Det. Briscoe or Green?"  
  
"I do actually," Goren nodded. "They were the ones who booked you, right?"  
  
"I wanted to apologize to – Briscoe, is it – for calling him an S.O.B.," Lex remarked. "It was in the heat of the moment. I was on a date. I know they were just doing their jobs."  
  
"He'll be glad to hear that," Goren stated, then moved towards the exit. Lex spotted the novel that Goren had left on the table.  
  
"Excuse me, detective," Lex said, "You left your novel." He examined the shiny cover. 'Clear and Present Danger'.  
  
"Oh, thanks," Goren stumbled towards the table. "I love Tom Clancy. All those real-life geo-political intrigues." He tapped on the novel's cover. "This one especially."  
  
"It's about the President's covert personal war against the drug cartels," Lex noted.  
  
Goren seemed surprised. "So you've read it? What did you think?"  
  
"One of its themes is the abuse of political power," Lex replied, "but I found myself sympathizing with the President. His buddy was killed. He wanted revenge. That's only human."  
  
"Yes," Goren added, "but the problem was that he used his status and power to pursue a private war against the people who had killed his friend ..."  
  
Lex checked his watch anxiously. Goren began to sweat. Time was against him. According to Carver, Robinette would have finished his closing arguments half an hour ago.  
  
"I guess this fiction doesn't match up to some of the stories your father must have told you," Goren began.  
  
Lex became defensive. "What does my father have to do with this?"  
  
"He's been a defense contractor for the Pentagon and the CIA," Goren began. "I bet he had some juicy stories overseas."  
  
Lex was uncomfortable with the subject of his father's past deeds. Or misdeeds. "Lionel Luthor's idea of flying the flag is funneling arms and materiel to any despot or strongman who's got Uncle Sam's blessing. 'America's interests are mine', he liked to say."  
  
"You're saying Mr. Luthor's partners were less than savoury," Goren replied.  
  
"What I'm saying," Lex continued, "is that my father's moral judgment tends to lapse whenever money is involved. Some of the things he's done ..."  
  
He stopped himself, still reluctant to admit that the wealth he stood to inherit was far from clean. A good chunk of it was filthy: caked in the blood of South American revolutions, African coups d'etats and Iron Curtain assassinations. It would be different under my watch, Lex told himself.  
  
It will be different.  
  
"You're aware that the FedEx package found at your company's condo is the subject of an investigation," Goren stated. "High levels of chemicals en route to the eastern Mediterranean. I mean, apart, they're nothing. They could be used for fertilizer. But combined with other chemicals, well –"  
  
He leaned closer to Lex. "Ka – BOOM!"  
  
"I have no control over how those chemicals are used when they reach their final ports," Lex replied. "That's all those shipments are. Fertilizer."  
  
Goren chuckled. "Fertilizer. Okay, okay. I'll buy that. After all, you're a fertilizer plant manger. In Smallville. That must have been annoying. Humiliating. To be yanked out of the Metropolis high life to make cow dung in that one-horse hick-town."  
  
Lex didn't flinch. "I welcomed the opportunity to prove myself. I turned the plant around. I even arranged an employee buyout when my father threatened to shut it down."  
  
Goren was now beside Lex. "Bet that got Lionel hot under the collar!"  
  
Lex recalled his father's reaction at the news of the buyout. "He didn't expect that I had the resolve to stand up to him. I did."  
  
"Resolve, eh," Goren remarked. "Is that what you call it? You don't strike me as a naïve guy. You're actually quite intelligent. A genius, even. When an employee comes up to you with news of discrepancies, did you not see an opportunity to take a stab at the old man? To show him up once more?"  
  
Across the hall, Eames nervously tapped at her pen. Get out of there now, Goren, she thought. It's too dangerous.  
  
"Should I get him out of there?" Deakins asked.  
  
"No," Carver stated abruptly. "Let's ride this out."  
  
In the meeting room, Lex stood up and paced around. Where is my lawyer?  
  
"Chelsea told me she had noticed some irregularities," Lex began. "I offered to examine them and follow-up. She refused, and wanted to go to the ombudsman. Rumours started about plans to go to the press. I admit, I was nervous. But she was an employee of Luthor Corp. Answerable – ultimately – to me. She was supposed to be –"  
  
"Loyal," Goren finished the sentence. "Because that's what you value most. Loyalty. And she betrayed you. This petite, blonde marketing cutie pie with the sparkling green eyes was going to splash your name across the New York papers and tarnish your name. Or, so you believed."  
  
Lex collected his documents and closed his briefcase. "I regret what happened to Ms. Saunders, but she had no right to over-step the chain of command and break her confidentiality agreement. If she had only trusted me, I would have resolved the situation. She didn't, and now she's dead. On my watch. How do you think that makes me feel?" Lex began to walk towards the exit.  
  
Now, I have you, Goren grinned. He casually strolled in front of Lex. And the exit route. "I understand. She betrayed you. You were her superior. She should have trusted you. She didn't – and she had to face the consequences. But you could have protected her. That's why you went to the condo that night, the night of her murder."  
  
"I did not kill her!" Lex exclaimed. "She was livid. She told me that she was hell-bent on exposing the questionable shipments. Because it was wrong. If anyone was naïve, it was her! It was always black-and-white with her. The world we live in is not that simple. One man's pious crusader is another's dangerous zealot. I offered to help, and she refused. Why? Because – because I couldn't be trusted. What did I do to deserve such disloyalty ..." He sat on one of the chairs, trying to regain his composure.  
  
Goren gently approached him. "And, why didn't she think you could be trusted? Because you were the boss? Or, the boss' son?"  
  
Lex glared at him. "She said I couldn't be trusted ... because I was a Luthor. A Luthor! I'm not a clone of my father's. And I refuse to accept culpability for his Cold War activities, however proudly he wraps them in Old Glory. I don't get respect for being my own person. I get disdain for being a Luthor's son. Tell me, is that fair?"  
  
Goren couldn't sense if Lex was rattled. It was a simmering anger.  
  
A controlled, focused temper.  
  
But emotion now clouded Lex's judgment. Would Lex snap, and reveal all he knew about his father's illegal transactions? The arms to Morocco, the potential WMD's en route to Albania ... all of it?  
  
The cavalry can charge in any time, Goren hoped.  
  
"Well, now's your chance to right your father's wrongs," Goren suggested.  
  
Lex huffed. "By selling out my father? I don't approve of some of my father's business schemes, but I'm not about to plant a Judas kiss on a blood relation merely to soothe my guilt over Chelsea's death. My family issues are a private matter. I'll deal with them ... on my schedule. If you don't mind, I'll wait for my attorney to arrive."  
  
Goren left, and cursed under his breath. Lex would not give them what they wanted. He would not openly betray his father.  
  
"We tried," Carver lamented, once Goren broke the news. "Lex is made of tougher stuff than we had thought." Lex knew something about that FedEx package. If he couldn't tie the Saunders killing to Lex, he was intent on targeting Lionel.  
  
A tall, black man entered. "Am I interrupting something?" It was Paul Robinette, former ADA and current high-profile defense lawyer.  
  
"Paul," Carver greeted the former ADA. "It's good to see you again."  
  
"Likewise, Ron," Robinette replied. "But we'll have to set aside the pleasantries for later. Where's my client? You realize that anything he might have said without my presence is inadmissible in court."  
  
Robinette, followed by Carver and Deakins, entered the other meeting room.  
  
"You must be Mr. Robinette," Goren stated, as he extended his hand. "It's a pleasure."  
  
Robinette looked disapprovingly at his famous client. "I would have preferred that you didn't speak to anyone before my arrival."  
  
"Not to worry," Lex replied. "Mr. Goren and I were talking about political follies in high places."  
  
Once all parties took their seats, Robinette pulled out a blue sheet.  
  
"Mr. Carver," Robinette began, "You're familiar with a motion to sever?"  
  
Carver quickly reviewed the document. "On what grounds?"  
  
"Lex Luthor," Robinette began, "may be a senior member of Luthor Corp. on paper. But in practice, all real decision-making rests solely at Lionel's feet. With Lex Corp. formally registered as a legal entity, I believe we can make the argument that Lex shouldn't be held responsible for alleged decisions he'd never have the authority to make."  
  
"We'll appeal," Carver pushed aside the motion dismissively.  
  
"I don't think I've made myself clear," Lex stared directly into Carver's eyes. "This motion to sever means I'm also distancing myself from this vindictive lawsuit against the NYPD."  
  
Carver whispered something into Capt. Deakins ear. Deakins cleared his throat. "Does this mean you are dropping the lawsuits against members of the 27th Precinct, including Lt. Van Buren and Detectives Briscoe and Green?"  
  
"Yes," Robinette concluded. "We are also prepared to drop the police brutality civil suit against Elliot Stabler. I've advised my client that Stabler's predicament is sufficient warning to other rogue cops that such actions have consequences. In return, we expect the D.A.'s office not to appeal this motion to sever. If you're going to hang Lionel Luthor, you're going to have to find your own rope to do it."  
  
Carver shook his head. He wasn't going to yield ground without a fight. "No. We won't appeal this motion – only if Lex Luthor also agrees to drop his suit against city hall and the D.A.'s office, too."  
  
"That's non-negotiable," Robinette declared. "Lex will consider settling the lawsuit against two parties at the D.A.'s office: Arthur Branch and Jack McCoy. My client has already opted to omit Ms. Southerlyn from the suit. As for city hall, that's a matter my client will be debating with Mayor Bloomberg next week. Accept this motion as-is, or consider this the first salvo in a malicious prosecution suit that will expose all the dirty deals and broken promises buried in the D.A.'s office. In my time as an ADA, I've seen good people screwed over for political interests. I know how the D.A.'s office truly works."  
  
Lex smiled as the D.A. and Capt. Deakins traded excited whispers. Checkmate, he mused.  
  
"If Mr. Luthor tells us what happened on the night of Chelsea Saunders' murder," Deakins offered. "You have a deal."  
  
Lex mumbled something to Robinette, then nodded. He began to recount those final hours of Chelsea's life. Lex had received a text message from her. She was going to courier her findings to the company ombudsman, who would be required to reveal it to the public. Lex had arrived at Versailles Condo to, once again, offer his assistance in bringing those findings to light.  
  
"She refused," Lex explained. "She went on a juvenile rant about how Luthors can't be trusted to do the right thing. I merely informed her that breaking her confidentiality agreement would likely cost her career. She used some expletives to describe me, then told me to get out. So I did. I might have noticed a Mr. Jenkinson behind the security desk, but that's all. People pass through the main foyer every day. I was in New York to sign contracts. Day-to-day operations were left to subordinates."  
  
"And still, you did nothing," Deakins countered, "even though you knew what your father could be capable of – should those findings surface in the media?"  
  
"My father is many things," Lex stated, "but he's suffered a debilitating accident. He simply doesn't have the strength to orchestrate the things you're alleging. What our overseas partners do with those shipments is out of our control. And beyond my influence. I'm sorry, but I don't have the knowledge you're seeking. Mr. Robinette will provide you with a sworn affidavit attesting to my account of that night."  
  
"This is your last olive branch," Robinette folded his files and stood up. "Lex, we're leaving. I walk out this door, Mr. Carver, and the status quo remains. Cops will lose their jobs. Arthur Branch won't have a leg to stand on. I consider Jack McCoy a good D.A. Perhaps even a just man. But my client was wronged. Someone has to be held accountable."  
  
Before they could step out the door, Carver coughed.  
  
"It's a deal. You'll have it in writing by noon."  
  
Minutes later, Carver informed Branch and McCoy by phone about the terms. The police were off the hook. If Lex's goodwill continued, Robinette would likely wring a statement of regret out of Arthur Branch and the mayor's office. Everyone would save face, though humbled in public.  
  
Carver referred to a sealed file. "I'm handing over a file to the US Attorney, who's considering federal enterprise corruption charges against Luthor Corp. With the motion to sever, the feds have only Lionel left to deal with. If they proceed with the charges, he can't hide behind the Kansas governor any longer."  
  
Branch let out a frustrated sigh and sat in his leather chair. "Now, your chickens have come home to roost, Jack," he lamented after the conference call. "I'm left with egg on my face!"  
  
"Look at it this way, Arthur," McCoy replied. "Lex gets his formal break with Luthor Corp., and we get a truce. We can still challenge Lex's appeal on the obstruction count, but the odds don't look good at this point. We only have one Luthor to grapple with now, and Lionel's got his own son pitted against him."  
  
Branch grumbled to himself. "It looks like I'll have to kiss a whole lot of babies next term, now that I've been given the boot from the Luthor electoral gravy train."  
  
[49th Street, midtown Manhattan]  
  
Lex smiled broadly as he walked outside One Police Plaza. He felt satisfied that he obtained what he wanted. Lionel Luthor's future mistakes would be his alone. Chelsea Saunders may have been one of those mistakes, but Lex wasn't about to entertain such wild theories.  
  
Leave it to zealots like Chloe Sullivan to hypothesize, he mused. The mere thought that Lionel had the power to order a missile strike to wipe Wallace Johnson from existence ...  
  
It was absurd. It had to be.  
  
Robinette waved a cab. "Lex, we'll talk again. I've got to return to the courthouse for another case. You are a free man. Enjoy your freedom."  
  
Manhattan was now Lex's to explore. To conquer. He had faced his Waterloo, and survived.  
  
He spent the next half hour walking through Manhattan. A brisk wind swirled the light snow along the pavement. Shoppers clung to their bags, as they crossed the streets. He picked up a coffee and paused at Rockefeller Center. The giant Christmas tree, with its bright decorations and baubles, dominated the main plaza. Workers had just completed the stage for next week's televised holiday special. About a dozen impossibly tall Rockettes practiced their dance routine on the stage. One of them spotted Lex, pointed him out to her friends, and waved. Lex waved back.  
  
He didn't noticed that Serena Southerlyn had approached him.  
  
"Enjoying the season's greetings, Lex?" Southerlyn inquired.  
  
Lex turned around. "I've always found it hard to find that holiday cheer. But it is good to be a free man once again. To be in control of one's fate."  
  
"I guess I should thank you for not naming me in your lawsuit," Southerlyn remarked.  
  
"I'm told you were the voice of reason at the D.A.'s office," Lex mentioned. "If it had come to a guilty verdict, you were probably the only person who could have kept me off death row."  
  
"Perhaps," Southerlyn remarked. "But Ron Carver offered you the keys to the kingdom. Did you realize that he was giving you an opportunity to end your Lionel feud for good? You could have walked out of Manhattan with the Luthor empire in your pocket."  
  
"I know," Lex admitted. "but I'd rather leave New York with my integrity intact. The D.A. might think nothing about scuttling family bonds, but those bonds – whether I like it or hate it – have made me who I am. I am a Luthor. To deny that would make me an arrogant fool."  
  
"Is that what you really believe, Lex," Southerlyn continued. "That your path is already laid out for you, that your genes dictate what's in store for you?"  
  
"What I believe is, Counselor, that genes provide a glimpse of what's to come," Lex replied. "How that future unfolds is up to us." He noticed a tiny crucifix pendant around her neck. "But I guess your faith tells you that we are all made in the image of God."  
  
Southerlyn laughed nervously at Lex's observation. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that I'm practicing my religion."  
  
"Yet, you still wear a cross around your neck," Lex continued. "That tells me that those values still matter to you. Everyone needs a foundation on which to base their lives."  
  
"And what's your foundation, Lex?" Southerlyn inquired.  
  
Lex grinned: _"To be completely free, one must become a slave to laws."_  
  
"That's Cicero," Southerlyn answered. "You forget I'm a lawyer. And you didn't answer my question."  
  
Lex finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage. "That's the beauty of a free society. I can choose to answer the questions I want. I've enjoyed this conversation, Ms. Southerlyn, but I have work to do before I return to Metropolis. Enjoy the holidays." He began to walk towards the intersection.  
  
"I hope you find what you're looking for," Southerlyn offered, as a gust of wind chilled the entire plaza.  
  
Lex turned around at the crosswalk, intrigued by the comment. "And what would that be, Ms. Southerlyn?"  
  
"Peace of mind," Southerlyn replied.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Counsellor," Lex yelled above the rumble of traffic.  
  
Across the street, he marveled at the stone and glass towers of downtown Manhattan. "God rest ye merry gentlemen," he mused. "Let nothing you dismay ..."  
  
Lex felt cold, and it wasn't because of the wind. Ms. Southerlyn had said the same thing in his nightmare: that he could find peace. It worried him.  
  
That he would never be at peace.  
  
[McDaniel's Gas and General Store, Smallville, Kansas]  
  
The sedan pulled up to the gas bar. The Metropolis – Smallville commute seemed faster than usual. It had been raining; pools of water were everywhere. Luckily, the reported snowfall only clipped the northern corner of the state.  
  
"Break time, guys," Munch remarked. "My treat. I take it junk food is acceptable."  
  
"Works for me," Clark replied, as he stepped out of the car to stretch his legs. While Fin Tutuola leaned against the car to review the late edition of the Ledger, Clark strolled along the patch of grassland beside the store. He was finally out of New York's concrete cocoon. Away from the media. He felt relieved that both he and Lex were free – in a manner of speaking.  
  
Then it hit him.  
  
A wave of nausea rippled through his body. As he collapsed onto the road, he managed to glimpse a sparkle of green amid the shrubs. A large piece of green meteor rock was half-buried in the soil, at the shrub roots. He was so close to keeping his secret out of the NYPD's files ... and now this. Clark struggled to get up, but his energy was slowly draining away.  
  
Tutuola noticed that Clark had fallen and ran towards him. "Yo, Clark, you alright?" he asked. "Munch! Get over here! Clark's not looking so well."  
  
Munch dropped his armful of chips and chocolate bars and knelt beside Clark. Det. Munch would surely spot the green meteor rock nestled beside the nearby shrubs. The detectives slowly helped Clark to his feet and guided him into the car seat.  
  
Clark felt his strength return, but he needed an alibi. An excuse. Anything.  
  
Now – before Munch figured it out.  
  
Clark coughed. "It must be ... the chicken we ate on the plane."  
  
Munch's seemed suspicious. "I had dinner on the flight, and I feel fine."  
  
"That's 'cause you got the steakette," Tutuola replied. "I gotta admit, I'm not feeling at the top of my game after that soggy chicken creole."  
  
Clark saw his opportunity. "Yeah. With all that turbulence mid-flight and the bad chicken, it just got to me."  
  
Munch relented. "Maybe you better lay off the junk food. I'll get you some water instead." Clark thought that would be the end of it, but he didn't expect Tutuola to spot the green meteor rock.  
  
Tutuola had spotted the rock half-buried beneath the shrub. "Hey, John, isn't that one of those green meteor rocks you've been telling me about?"  
  
He reached out to grab it. Clark panicked. He could simply speed-run away, but that would tell the detectives that he had something to hide. If Tutuola brought that rock into the car, he could die before he ever reached the farmhouse.  
  
Munch, who had just exited the store, lunged at his partner and almost tackled him to the ground. "Do not touch that, Fin! I've read those rocks have toxic properties! They've got nutcases in Belle Reve and psychos in the state pen who've lost their marbles because of those rocks!"  
  
Tutuola backed away. "Alright, okay! They're just meteor rocks! It's not like I'm gonna turn into the Hulk by picking it up."  
  
Munch took off his sunglasses and peered at the shiny green rocks. He glanced at Clark, who still seemed slightly ill. The chicken, eh, he wondered. When he returned to the car, he looked over his shoulder at Clark. "You sure you're okay, Kent? We could go to the hospital."  
  
"Oh no, that's alright," Clark replied. "Some Rolaids, and I'll be good as new."  
  
"Don't say we didn't warn you," Tutuola added, as he turned on the ignition. "If you puke your guts out on the upholstery, it's coming out of your allowance."  
  
At a variety store along Smallville's main street, Chloe paid the 50 cents for the Daily Planet. The headline declared yet another twist to the Luthor scandal in the Empire State:  
  
'_WAYNE RALLIES BEHIND EMBATTLED NY D.A.: Gotham City industrialist lauds federal charges as "just"_'  
  
Chloe was somewhat familiar with the Wayne – Luthor rivalry. The tycoons had skirmished before, but this was no longer a spat. Now it would be an open war. Mr. Wayne seemed to be a corporate lightweight, but he was known to be politically savvy. Perhaps a strategic alliance served Wayne's needs ... and saved McCoy's career?  
  
She wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. It hadn't snowed, but the wind was definitely picking up. Lana and Mr. Kent had planned a 'Welcome Home' party for Clark at the Talon. Clark's flight had landed at Metropolis International about two hours ago, but there was still no sign of the man of the hour.  
  
Lana had thought of inviting Lex to the party, but that would have brought him into contact with Mr. Kent. Lex saved them the trouble of an awkward situation: he was apparently still in New York City and would not return to Smallville until late that night. The Talon's staffers were busily hanging tinsel, balloons and decorations on the walls. Pete, Lana, Mr. Kent and the well-wishers were already there.  
  
Chloe didn't want to admit it, but she was worried about Clark. She believed that, as a friend, she should keep a stiff upper lip – especially around Mr. Kent, who had busied himself with farm projects. She couldn't imagine how painful it must have been for Clark's father to watch his son grilled on the witness stand like a common criminal. And with Mrs. Kent working on behalf of Lionel's legal team, Mr. Kent was left alone to keep the home fires burning.  
  
Hurry home, Clark, Chloe thought to herself as she winced at the gusts of wind whipping around her face. I miss you.  
  
A sedan stopped two blocks away. Chloe paused. Are the feds tailing me?  
  
When Tutuola turned onto the main street, Munch had spotted the familiar wisps of blonde hair. "Pull over there, Fin."  
  
"Why here, Munch?" Tutuola wondered. "The Talon's just down the street." Munch nodded towards the blonde girl.  
  
"I have a feeling Clark won't mind walking a few blocks," Munch grinned. Slightly.  
  
Clark seemed to nod a 'thank you' to the detective, then sprinted towards Chloe. Munch and Tutuola got out of the car for a moment.  
  
"Clark Kent?" Chloe looked surprised, as Clark paused a few feet away. "You're back."  
  
She wanted to kick herself. She had planned a long speech about how right Clark was in defending his faith in a friend – even if that pal was Lex Luthor. But now was not the time to debate the validity of Clark's trust in Lex. You're back, she grumbled to herself. Not exactly the warm greeting Clark should have expected. He deserved more from me.  
  
Clark stepped towards Chloe, and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her tightly, as if he hadn't seen her in years. For one brief moment, Chloe was at a loss for words. There was no need for them. That hug told her everything she wanted to know.  
  
He missed her.  
  
In the distance, Tutuola smirked. "John Munch, sometimes you amaze me. Who'd have figured you had a soft spot for Archie and Betty over there! Don't tell me you're getting soft?"  
  
"I have a knack for picking moments," Munch admitted. Maybe he did sympathize with the anguish the Kent kid was going through. And maybe the detective could identify with the inquisitive Miss Sullivan more than he realized. But he would never say that out loud. He was a detective with the Special Victims Unit.  
  
Being "soft" wasn't part of his vocabulary, and he stressed that point by masking his face once more with his sunglasses.  
  
"This town's on the highway to hell," Munch insisted, even as Clark and Chloe chatted excitedly about the past few weeks. "A toxic web of deception and willful ignorance binds this entire county – and Lex Luthor, Clark Kent and those frickin' green rocks are at the epicentre of it. Lionel Luthor might think he has leverage around here, but I used to work in Baltimore ... a stone's throw away from Langley and my CIA contacts. You heard it here first, Fin, if I find so much as a hay-straw's shred of evidence of Luthor subterfuge, I'm going to sweep through Smallville's dirty closet of secrets like Mr. Clean on steroids!"  
  
Tutuola laughed at his partner's paranoid rant. "Sure, you will. But not tonight." They had to return to the ranks of New York's thin blue line. And there was no place like home.  
  
Clark and Chloe waved goodbye, as the detectives drove away.  
  
"I guess we'll never see them again," Chloe mused, still beaming with joy at her friend's return.  
  
"I guess not," Clark replied. "I hope not." He wanted to believe that, but he could never be sure if Det. Munch believed his food poisoning alibi or not. Chloe had told him that Lex was distancing himself from Lionel's lawsuit against New York's cops and lawyers. But was that the end of it? Clark sensed that next year had more surprises in store for their town.  
  
Those concerns would have to wait for another day, because he was greeted with a big "Surprise!" when he entered the Talon. Jonathan bolted away from the gathering crowd, raced towards his son and gave him a bear hug. A tear had sprinkled his face.  
  
"I'm home, Dad," Clark smiled. "And I'm not leaving anytime soon."  
  
Pete and the other well-wishers welcomed back their friend, but Clark seemed distracted. His mom was still in New York, his friend Lex was still wrapping up loose ends in Wall Street ... and the relentless Big Apple press made him out to be less than honest.  
  
He set aside his feelings again, as one of the Talon's staffers wheeled out a large Black Forest cake, drizzled with an icing message: 'Welcome Back, Clark!'  
  
Then everything seemed to stop.  
  
Lana Lang weaved through the crowd. "Clark!" Before he could say a word, she began to ramble. "When we heard you were going to be sequestered, we were all taken aback. I mean, you were cut off from all of us ... Mr. Kent couldn't even say hi to you on the phone ... Lex was beaten in Sing Sing ... that cop was killed, then the navy blew Wallace Johnson straight to Mars ... and the tabloids were saying such vicious things about you, and –"  
  
Clark held both of her hands. "None of that matters now. I told the truth. Lex is free. I'm back home with my friends and family. And ... I am really glad to see you."  
  
Lana jumped into his arms and embraced him warmly. "Merry Christmas, Clark Kent," she gushed. "The holidays would never be the same without you."  
  
Chloe saw them and smiled politely, as the party-goers waited in line for a piece of cake.  
  
"Whatcha thinking about, Chloe?" Pete inquired mischievously, He knew Chloe had certain feelings for his best friend, and he didn't hesitate to tease her.  
  
"Nothing, Pete," Chloe stated matter-of-factly. She savoured her slice of cake and grinned.  
  
He hugged me first.  
  
**THE END**


End file.
